


Alter Anders

by omega12596



Series: Duas Meditates [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Dragon Age AU, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gender or Sex Swap, Humor, M/M, Rape/Non-con References, That Time Anders Thought He Got To Decide The End
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-17 13:02:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omega12596/pseuds/omega12596
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders suffers turnabout because I said so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1-4

**Author's Note:**

> When we left our wonder pair, Anders had just shagged Fem-ris silly and LEFT! WTF, Anders, that’s like… absolutely bogus, dude. With dawn’s early light, however, Fem-ris is once again Fenris and our lovely elf lays out a plan, to show Anders once and for all that despite their differences, there is no one in Thedas better suited for one ex-warden apostate than one Tevinter ex-slave.

One

Fenris stretched, burying his nose in the soft fabric at his cheek, memories of the previous night heating his blood and putting another smile on his face. If being with Anders was never again as good as that first time, Fenris didn’t care. He wanted the mage buried deep inside him as often as was physically possible. And considering what Isabela said about Grey Warden stamina…

His thoughts drifted carnally for about another thirty seconds before it dawned on him that his body was responding differently than he expected. In fact, if he wasn’t mistaken…

Fenris sat up and threw the blankets aside at once overjoyed and terribly disappointed to see a thick, bobbing erection pointing straight up at his face. He was a **man** again, thank the Maker! He had to tell the mage…

Looking around his room, though, the truth came swiftly. Anders was not there. Fenris didn’t need to look for the man, he could feel or rather _couldn’t_ sense the mage’s presence. Over the last week, he’d learned to accept a rather uncanny knowing when it came to Anders and where he was, and at this moment, Fenris knew he was in that shitty hovel of a clinic in Darktown.

Alone in his ‘rightfully stolen’ home, Fenris shifted to the edge of the bed and leaned onto his knees. It was only here, where no one would see, none could hear, that Fenris set aside all the armor he wore, literal and figurative, and just let himself be. So many years as a slave taught him to never show his true self, never allow the outside in. It was safer to be cold, aloof, to have no care for anything. _Bah, it was better this way._

Over the course of seven years, he and Anders became rivals on good days, archenemies on the bad. It didn’t matter that Fenris had developed feelings for the mage because he didn’t understand them, didn’t know how to show them, certainly had no idea if he could ever share them. Never comfortable with feeling ignorant, he relied on what he did know, biting sarcasm and thinly veiled revulsion. 

He couldn’t stop from digging and sniping, no matter how much the small part of himself that wasn’t consumed with hatred for magic (was perhaps rather focused on the power, the warmth and comfort, held within one particular mage) railed at the rest of the elf to be kind instead of cruel. Fenris seemed bound to ever reinforce the wall between himself and the object of his… affection, obsession, frustration.

It started small. Calling Anders an Abomination, cursing his blighted power, only to have the mage later heal a wound, without accusation or venom, wondering why the ex-Warden would do something like that for an elf that made it clear he hated mages and magic. Then Fenris began to notice the haggard appearance, the dark circles under Anders eyes, was flat-out told it wasn’t from consorting with demons but from working himself to the bone, trying to help everyone who needed it, fighting to heal the sickest of the sick, the poorest of the poor. Even the elf knew real blood mages could not heal. If Anders were an actual abomination, he’d never have been able to tap into creation magic.

Then Anders started asking questions, about being a slave, about whether Fenris had ever wanted to die, began to argue there wasn’t much difference between what Fenris suffered in Tevinter and what mages were forced to endure in the rest of Thedas. Of course, the elf scoffed, dismissed the argument out of hand, but the longer they’d been in Kirkwall, the more Fenris had been forced to stop ignoring the truth because it was easier. Easier to hide behind his hatred, easier to pretend the mage was insane and power hungry, just like they _all_ were.

After Danarius came, after Fenris killed his old master and was betrayed by his sister, after Anders had called him a hypocrite, had suggested Hawke _should_ send him back to Tevinter, that was the moment when the elf realized he more than desired the mage. Every word Anders spoke had cut him to the bone and the irony hadn’t been lost on the elf. He’d spent years treating the mage with disdain and disgust, and at the moment when the hate he’d used as a weapon was turned against Fenris, when it hurt worse than looking into his sister’s face as she told him he got the better end of the deal, the elf couldn’t avoid the depth of his emotion for Anders.

And if it hadn’t been for clumsy feet and one stupid spell, a magic that had mixed up everything, Fenris would have gone to the end of his days and never revealed the truth. But for once, or perhaps Fenris thought, this once magic had not spoiled, but truly made possible something most profound. Indeed, it was the very reason he’d given himself up to Anders last night without reservation. He’d opened himself up in every way possible and let all the things he felt have free reign. He was a fool to think the mage would reciprocate and even more naïve to think one night would change anything for Anders.

It had for Fenris, though. He was certainly courting disaster here, and likely an extremely painful future, but he didn’t want to go back. He didn’t want to pretend nothing happened, that he wasn’t different for being with Anders, for being completely honest with someone else. Maybe being a woman affected more than Fenris thought, because as he stood and began to make himself ready for the day, he knew he didn’t want to be cold anymore.

Fenris made his way to the bathroom, quickly cleaning off the remnants of passion and dressing, pulling Anders shirt on beneath his armor, partly out of spite and partly for the comfort the press of the fabric gave him. His heart bumped hard and the elf’s mouth lifted in a small smile, having the mage close, even though it was only his scent on cloth, made Fenris feel... good, protected. As thoughts of the mage swirled in his head, he felt a subtle tug, beckoning him toward the sewers.

A small frown crinkled Fenris’ brow. If he was male again, wasn’t the spell broken? Why could he still sense the mage at all? Strapping his greatsword to his back, Fenris left his mansion and strode purposefully through Hightown to Hawke’s. Instinct told him there might have been a few things the others had left out when they’d explained the spell. Now seemed as good a time as any to straighten out any misunderstandings, before he followed the call of magic and discovered exactly how hard he was going to have to work to prove to Anders he wasn’t the elf the mage thought he loathed.

 _Ille qui exspectat, desperat_. He’d waited long enough, known plenty of despair, and even if his choice brought nothing but future pain, Fenris was determined to travel this untaken road as far as it would carry him.

* * *

Anders rolled to his back and reluctantly drifted into wakefulness. His body ached and so did his stupid chest and his blighted whirring brain, though the mage tried to ignore all of it. His sleep had been filled with the memory of Fenris, his emotions twisted up and confused. Gritting his teeth against a growl, Anders shifted on the bed. He didn’t have time for distractions, there was too much to do, too many sick that needed treatment, too little time to devise a better way to remove the option of compromise and force the fall of the Circle.

He sat up and stretched, yawning and trying to work out the kinks. Rubbing his hands over his face, dusting sleep from his eyes, Anders was part way through scratching along his jaw when something strange occurred to him. His face was smooth as silk, not a hint of whisker or stubble at all.

A twisty, sinking sensation brewed in the pit of his stomach and Anders slowly lowered his hands to look down. He slammed his eyes shut, shook his head, said a silent prayer, but when he opened his eyes, the truth was there in the inescapable thrust of his chest.

“You have _got_ to be _shitting_ me!” Oh no, that soft feminine squeak wasn’t his voice, any more than the breasts beneath his robes were his.

Somehow, fucking that blighted elf had made him _female_. Holy Maker, what else could possibly go wrong! _Don’t even think that, Anders. You’ll only court trouble._

With a strangled scream, Anders stood (and after tripping a couple times), gathering his now too-long robes in hand, and stormed to the bolted door of the clinic. Slamming the lock open, he trudged through the door, jerking it shut behind him, and made his way the short distance to the cellar entrance to Hawke’s estate. 

He’d been elsewise occupied yesterday and hadn’t made it to see Marian, to find out what Xenon knew. He had little choice now but to hope she had the cure in hand. This wasn’t the first time Anders had been transformed into a female version of himself, and though there’d been a time when he’d enjoyed it, looking down at the slim fingers of his hands he fought to forget the memories of the last time. 

No good lay down that road. Instead he settled himself into the shape, rolling the shoulders, feeling the weight of breasts and the sway of longer hair. It might have been years gone by, but the mage remembered what it was like to be a woman, how it affected his frame of mind and his magic, and if he’d thought being involved with Fenris was a shitty idea last night, being anywhere near the elf like _this_ was a Maker-be-damned nightmare of the first degree.

Female Anders was entirely too emotional, too volatile, too quick to temper and passion, but worst of all, ‘she’ was too fucking honest. Consumed by a powerful, angry sort of feminine aggression that was all too eager to speak out of turn, to challenge those ‘she’ thought had petty minds and lesser intellects. When in a woman’s body, Anders sensitive nature was protected instead of shared, the raw strength of Female Anders running roughshod over his in-born masculinity. 

This terrible tug-of-war only led, in the past, to loud internal arguments and a good deal of emotional distress, all that without external forces at work. Exactly what he needed, since he hadn’t been distressed enough from the moment he’d walked in on the elf the previous night. Andraste’s flaming ass, Anders didn’t want to have to think about it again, and he certainly didn’t want anyone else knowing what happened…

“Shit!” 

Maybe, maybe the non-mages in his circle of acquaintance wouldn’t put two and two together, but Merrill and Hawke, there was no chance. Anders being female meant he’d done _something_ with Fenris, an act of nebulous definition perhaps, but shifting genders wasn’t something that happened spontaneously. Again, with thoughts of the elf came a steady stream of questions. How would Fenris react to seeing Anders more delicate, with small breasts and slim curves? What if he was back to being an actual he?

It was starting already. Damn it he’d never be able to hide his chaotic feelings from Fenris in this state. Hell, he’d likely start blubbering, demanding to know why the elf thought the enslavement of mages was a good idea. Just thinking about it, Anders felt his temper boiling and had to clench his teeth against a surge of tears.

“FUCK!”

He stormed up the stairs and burst into Hawke’s estate and was instantly greeted by shocked shouts and the loud, raucous barking of Teddy, Marian’s Mabari.

“Who the Void are you?” Isabela, straight to the point.

“Anders.” Fenris.

“Fuck.” Anders squeezed his eyes shut and almost, almost spun on his heel and went back the way he came.

“Anders?” Marian was obviously a little confused.

“Yes. Anders. And yes, of course, everyone has to be here. Andraste’s tits, will you shut that _damned dog up_!” 

“Wow, Anders, you’re not nearly as tall as I thought you’d be, as a woman.” Isabela, dear, pain in the ass, obnoxious Isabela.

“I know. How about you help me out, Bela and find me something to wear that isn’t likely to make me break my neck.” He turned to look at Rivaini, saw her perched against the desk where Hawke’s letters generally sat and tried to flash his most charming smile.

Bela grinned, in no way swayed by the gesture. “Absolutely, lovely. Right after Hawke here tells you and the elf what she found out from Xenon. I’m not missing that for all the gold in Thedas.”

Varric chuckled but Merrill looked decidedly distressed. Aveline too looked like she wanted to run away. Thank the Maker, Prince Preachy Pants was nowhere in sight. Anders grumbled beneath his breath and fought to keep his eyes off the elf, struggled not to recognize the tiny tuft of fabric showing beneath his armor, its soft cream color a reminder of so many things he really didn’t want to think about.

“Fine.”

“Let’s go into the library. Bodahn, would you please open at least two bottles of wine. I think we might need them.”

“Certainly, messere.”

As one, the six of them shifted from the parlor into the library and Hawke closed the door. Thankfully, she didn’t drag things out. Much.

“Really, for once, would someone else like to handle this? I am just sick with being the bearer of awkward and upsetting.” Four bodies shifted uncomfortably, and when Marian had heaved a disgruntled sigh, Merrill stepped forward and took her partner’s hand in her own.

“I will. Creators know I do awkward all the time.”

Her comment had its intended effect, drawing a laugh and smile from Hawke, smoothing out the crinkle of worry from between the human’s brows. “I love you, silly, especially the awkward.”

They pressed their foreheads together before Merrill turned to face Anders and Fenris. The mage, for his part, was trying to carefully put more space between him and the elf, not that the elf was cooperating, since every step Anders took away, Fenris took one closer.

“Well, it seems you two figured out more than Xenon. He had no good ideas.”

Anders almost crumpled to the floor in hopelessness. “No, there must be some way. You told me he would find a way to fix this, that he knew –“

“Anders, she’s not done.” Marian’s voice was soft and somewhat sad.

“What do you mean?”

“Let her finish.”

Merrill cleared her throat. “The proprietor of the Emporium said the enchantment on the statue was meant to be a curse, to change anyone who dared to desecrate it to stone. But Fenris broke the damn thing, and then all that lyrium in his body got tangled in the magic, and Justice was forcibly evicted… Basically, Xenon has no good thoughts, other than there is no way to reverse it. The spell was a curse, and those either-“

“They stick around until the requirements are met to break it, or the afflicted dies, if the curse allows that to happen.” Anders was beginning to feel thoroughly ill.

The Dalish woman pursed her lips, obviously trying to quell a sad frown. “Yes.”

Anders staggered and Fenris wrapped one spiky, gauntleted hand around his elbow to steady him. The mage jerked free of the elf’s hold. “Don’t fucking touch me!” A slow count to ten and Anders felt like he could speak without devolving into stark raving crazy. “So it’s me, then, that’s stuck like this? Isn’t that wonderful, the mage-hater gets his body back, but the spirit healer doesn’t. What a perfect solution!”

“Anders, Merrill and I aren’t giving up. You can’t either.” Marian looked at him with kindness, and concern, and her sympathy only made him want to have a meltdown more.

Another count to ten, this time in Tevene, as Anders tried to process everything. “And did that bat-shit crazy skeleton have an explanation for why, in the Maker’s name, a spell could even be made to act in such a fashion?”

“No. I was going back to see him, Merrill, Varric, Bela and I, when Fenris stopped in.”

Anders started to shake, a fine tremor through all his limbs. “Are you telling me you, all of you, were here this morning chatting up this insane curse the elf and I are trapped in, without either of us present? Drawing short straws on who had to break the news? Really, why should I be surprised, because everyone else should know my business before I do!”

“Well, we weren’t exactly talking about the two of you-“ Merrill was trying to be gentle, kind, and Anders wanted to rip her head off and use it as a projectile.

“Really?”

“Calm down, mage. You don’t see me throwing a tantrum, do you? Especially not since I only just found out we seem to have exchanged pieces of our _souls_.” Fenris low pitched voice cut straight through Anders and the trembling became tremors.

He felt the tears well in his eyes as he shot an angry, accusatory glare at Hawke and Merrill both. “You promised! You swore you would _never_ tell him!”

“We didn’t have a choice, Anders. He came here seeking answers and I refuse to lie to him.” Marian’s face was flush, both because she’d upset her friend, but also because she was angry with the ex-Warden for expecting she would willingly obscure the truth.

“I know where you are, mage.”

“You- What?” Anders pivoted to face the elf. “What did you say?”

“I can feel you. If I think about you, I know exactly where you are.”

It was so disgustingly perfect, the warped connection between them. Anders, with the ability to ‘see’ beneath the distant exterior the elf wore more closely than armor. And Fenris, able to find the mage, no matter where he tried to hide, leaving him with no safe haven. 

“Unbelievable! All my life, hunted without mercy, but at least I finally destroyed my phylactery. But the Maker is a vengeful god, so now, I have _you_ , a fucking living phylactery! It’s perfect, now you can keep an eye on the dangerous mage every second of the blighted day. Fuck!”

Anders couldn’t stay a second longer, he needed to get away from this insanity and get hold of himself. Without waiting to hear anything else, by the Void without even caring that his robes were practically falling off his much smaller frame, the mage ran for the door.

He knocked the dwarf over, the sound of glass shattering echoing in his ears as he tore back through the cellars toward Darktown. He dashed into the clinic, not even bothering to throw the lock as the tears started pouring down his face. Anders ran until he fell through the doorway into his shitty little bedroom, and with nowhere else to go, he sank onto the rickety cot and curled into a ball, and tried to shut out the world.

 

Two

Fenris held his hand up. “I’ll go.”

“Fenris –“

He gave Hawke a soft smile. The woman was practically beside herself, she was so distressed. Despite the fact that none of this was her fault, it was obvious she felt she was to blame. If she hadn’t taken them with her, knowing how they always argued, if she’d paid closer attention, maybe she could have stopped Fenris from stumbling… The elf was more than aware of all the things Marian Hawke was thinking, not because he could read her mind, but because Hawke would shoulder the world’s burdens if she could.

“It’s alright, Hawke. I’ll go.”

“Give me a minute, Fenris. Let me get you a few things for Anders to wear. He can’t be running around in those robes. It’ll only invite more trouble.” Marian hurried from the library and Fenris sighed as his friends shifted around, all of them looking terribly uncomfortable and unsure what to say or do to ease the tension.

“Is there anything else I should know about, witch?” Despite using the derisive title, Fenris kept his tone gentle. 

He would never understand why Hawke cared so deeply for the blood mage, would never be able to trust Merrill the way Marian obviously did. However, Fenris realized- as the two women had tried to explain all that they’d kept from him – the Dalish truly lacked the evil to be cruel or to hurt others, at least intentionally.

Perhaps it was a week spent inundated with thoughts and feelings he normally didn’t suffer, or perhaps it had been an understanding grown slowly over time, but either way Fenris didn’t feel the need to lash out, to bark about the poison of magic, at least not that particular morning and not at this particular witch.

“No, Fenris. I don’t think so. I’m so, so sorry. I’ll keep looking. Hawke and I will do our best to make some sense out of Xenon. Not that we’ll be successful. But we’ll still try.”

He looked into eyes so similar to his own. “Then… thank you.”

Hawke returned and pressed a small bag into his hands. “Oh, Fenris, this is such a mess. Please be careful, Anders seems terribly volatile and, well, just be careful.”

“I don’t think Blondie likes the idea of a collar any more than you do, Elf.” Varric gave him a narrow look and Fenris nodded his understanding.

Of the group at hand, the dwarf was probably the mage’s closest confidant, beyond Hawke. And the story-teller was making it clear he would have Anders’ back if push came to shove. Fenris was a powerful warrior, no doubt, but Varric’s skills went far beyond those he used to wield Bianca and the elf would be an idiot to underestimate the smaller male.

He nodded to his companions and turned from the library, sidestepping the shattered, crystalline blades scattered across the stone. Fenris took his time descending the steps and making his way through the bowels of Hawke’s estate, trying his best to decide how to approach Anders without the female version of him tearing his eyes out. In truth, he was more than a little unsettled by the turn of events, not just feminine Anders but how completely unstable she, _he_ , seemed to be.

His body still hummed from standing a few feet from the mage. His magic had been a rolling, seething thing Fenris could almost see. And that slight body had vibrated with rage, slim limbs shaking from the force of the emotions he’d tried, rather unsuccessfully, to bottle up and control.

As he stepped into Darktown, the elf took note of the bodies beginning to form a line at the clinic’s door. Sighing, he stepped forward and made to enter.

“Is the healer in, Serrah? My girl’s got a terrible infection in her leg.” The wizened man motioned to an adolescent girl with a large, seeping wound on her calf.

“The healer is unwell. I’m not certain he will be able to help today.”

Several of the faces near him shuttered and hope fled from their eyes. The Fenris of a week ago grew angry at the supplication on those filthy, ill-fed visages. What did they expect him to do, after all, and how dare they beg for aid when Anders was in no fit shape to offer it? The Fenris that had been female, however, felt a surge of pity instead of anger and a compulsion to offer compassion.

“I know others. If you will return later, I will see if I can bring aid. The lantern will be lit, if I am able.”

It wasn’t what they wanted, but these people who had little for themselves and nothing to give nodded with gratefulness and began to make their way back to their homes. 

“Wait. I will help you bring her inside. I know no magic, but I can clean the wound and give her a potion. It won’t heal her, but it will give her a chance to save the leg.”

Tying Hawke’s parcel to his sword, Fenris bent to lift the girl from the soiled ground and waited as the old man opened the door and let the elf pass through. He settled the girl on the first cot he came to, moving with efficiency to gather clean cloths, soap, and an elfroot potion from the shelf of supplies near Anders’ small desk.

He drew tepid water from a small spigot and returned to the girl and her father, offering the potion as he set about cleaning what infection and dead tissue he could from the wound. By the time he’d wrapped it with more clean bandages and helped the two humans back out of the clinic, there was a fine layer of sweat on his brow. Stripping his sword, gauntlets and chest piece off, Fenris cleaned up the refuse of his work before taking the bag of clothes in hand.

“Why did you do that?”

His gaze snapped up. Anders hadn’t made a sound as he’d moved from the backroom into the clinic proper and Fenris found he was nervous knowing he’d been watched. “The girl needed help.” Inside, he winced at the sharp tone of his voice. 

“Lots of people need help, Elf. I’ve just never known you to offer it.” Equally biting, and filled with contempt, Anders glared daggers at Fenris.

“I do not wish to argue, Anders. Hawke sent clothing.” 

He extended his arm, unsurprised when the mage snatched the package with a panicked jerk. The female before him practically screamed cornered animal and Fenris would be wise to remember no matter how fragile a thing might be, when in danger all creatures showed their teeth and claws.

Anders straightened his spine, amber eyes defiant, and Fenris didn’t even bother to deny the way his body responded. Male or female, he found the mage to be temptation incarnate, sin and savior, which begged the deeper question whether it was the form or the fire behind those uncanny eyes that compelled Fenris to follow more thoroughly than any master’s order ever had.

“The day you decide to overlook an opportunity to spit on me or magic is the day the Maker returns to Thedas, _Elf_.”

“You know nothing of me, _Mage_.” Fenris’ kept a leash on his anger, maintained the implacable façade and kept his tone neutral.

“I know as much as I’m ever likely too. Get out, Fenris.”

He made to step forward, but a wall of ice burst to life between him and the mage. The elf threw his arms up to protect his face, hissing as the frozen tips tore into his unprotected forearms. “Stop this, Anders.”

“No. You don’t want to be near me as a woman. If you thought male me was bitter and angry, he’s got nothing on this _bitch_. She’d as soon cut off your head than look at you and I have little to no control over my magic in this body. Now go.” 

Through the prism of light and color, Fenris watched Anders flee into his tiny alcove and cursed beneath his breath. It seemed the mage wasn’t as unused to his changed shape as the elf had been. He looked down at his arms, swiped away the blood and saw none of the wounds was of real note. With a sigh, he returned to the desk and gathered his things. He needed Hawke and Sebastian, both of them knowing more than he about healing arts. 

With a last glance over his shoulder, Fenris left the clinic.

* * *

Anders looked at himself in the broken mirror and sighed. At least it was the same female body he knew. Rather she knew because she was as much a part of Anders as ‘he’. He’d spent more than six months like this, once, and after so much time it had become impossible to think of himself in the masculine while in a form that was not. That truth was quickly asserting itself now, as he _she_ drew a finger over the scars inflicted, memories she had no desire to ever visit.

“It would be so much easier if I was an entirely new person. Being sublimated by a Fade spirit is a bit less awful than being squished away under the pressure of my own personality.” 

She looked into her eyes, the color identical, the shape more almond like, the lashes longer and thicker. She’d forgotten how lovely her face could be, the sharp angularity of masculine features barely softened but just enough. Anders was nowhere near as good-looking in female configuration as Fenris had been, but there was a dark, dangerous allure in her eyes, in the calculating curve of her mouth. She knew how best to use this body to her advantage.

In another time, Anders would have enjoyed plying her skills against Isabela’s, just for the egotism of such a thing. Lifting soft palms to small breasts, she pinched the nipples, saw the soft peach darken slightly as blood filled the tiny points, barely a handful, but enough. With almost clinical attention, she smoothed her hands down her belly, so little fat there was barely a curve, to her mons, pressing fingers through the slightly coarse hair, seeking the soft silk of labial folds. Pulling her fingers from her body, Anders turned. She was almost repulsively skinny, the knobs of her spine, the jut of hips, and every ridge of rib showing through her pale flesh.

With a frown, the mage decided she was going to start eating. Male Anders gave too much of himself, was too quick to offer the shirt off his back and the last bit of food on his plate. Maybe this switch wouldn’t be so bad. The least Anders could do was get healthy again. _There is something utterly wrong about my feminine side being more selfish than the masculine one_. Anders frowned at her thoughts, but didn’t argue with the inner voice. She was him, always had been, always would be, it wasn’t as if she were a second personality that had been buried away.

It was more that the shift of gender caused Anders subconscious to rein, and in this case, his subconscious was a violent, abused, powerful female who trusted no one and wanted nothing more than the freedom to be left alone, a woman who fought to protect her masculine counterpart from his own weakness and compassion.

As she pulled a blouse from the bag on her cot, Anders thought perhaps all people were both male and female, strength and resilience, compassion and judgment, passion and apathy. It made her think about the elf, about how little Fenris seemed to change other than outwardly. If she hadn’t been able to sense his inner struggle, she might have thought there was nothing at all different. And maybe there wasn’t. Perhaps having lyrium burned into his flesh and destroyed whatever femininity had once lived in him, whatever softness, whatever love.

Disgusted with the empathetic turn of her thoughts, Anders jerked on a pair of breeches and huffed. They were several sizes too big in the waist and hips and at least four inches too short. Why this form couldn’t be more like the elf’s, where the size difference had been minor at best, Anders really didn’t understand. One more injustice, she supposed, to heap atop the towering mountain.

“Anders?” Her name, carried on gentle alto waves, lifted her thoughts from ill-fitted clothes.

“Hawke?” _What in the Void did the woman want now?_

“It’s me. And Sebastian. We’ve come to help, if you’ll have us.”

Grabbing a strap of leather, no doubt some discarded piece of refuse she’d overlooked before, Anders wrapped the thing around her waist to hold the bottoms up and made her way into the clinic. “Help with what, exactly?”

“Holy Andraste!” Sebastian’s strange blue-green eyes blinked rapidly, as if that would suddenly make Anders male again.

She pointed at the priest. “You didn’t tell him?”

Hawke frowned at Vael. “I did. Get hold of yourself or leave.” Hawke was almost never terse, except with Sebastian. Anders couldn’t blame her, but it was amusing to see nonetheless.

“I apologize. I was surprised. I didn’t expect him, her, Anders to look quite so different.”

“In this body, I prefer ‘her’. But again, help with what?”

“The clinic. Fe- We weren’t sure how you’d feel about, well, I’m not a spirit healer, but I am an able healer. And Sebastian spent much of his service to the Chantry tending to the old and infirm.”

“I can clean wounds and stitch, make potions and poultices, and do some small surgeries.” The priest bent his head.

Anders lifted a brow. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to help the poor bastards down there, she did, but not to the dangerous limit male Anders was willing to go. Having the help of these two might allow her to continue the good work without killing herself to do it. “I have two conditions.”

“Yes?” Marian’s face was open and kind.

“First, there will be no speak of the Maker, of his Bride, or of the proper place for mages.” She looked pointedly at Vael.

He blushed a bit, but nodded. “Of course.”

“Second, I don’t want to talk about what’s happened. Not about me being female, not about the Maker-be-damned curse, and most definitely not about the elf.” This time Anders pinned Hawke with her gaze.

The other woman inclined her head, a bit of sadness tugging the corners of her mouth down in a small frown. “If that’s what you want, Anders.”

“It is. I need to get some food and proper clothes. Sorry, Hawke, your things are a might too big. If you want, I will light the lantern and you two can begin seeing patients while I do what I must.”

Her companions looked at each other and nodded. “That sounds like a good idea. Here,” Marian handed a bulging pouch to Anders, “use whatever you need. And I won’t hear a word about it.”

The mage smiled. “Don’t worry, you won’t. Thank you, Hawke.” On impulse, Anders stepped into the smaller woman and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I’ll be back quick as a wink.”

Marian gave her a real smile and shooed her out the door. Feeling a little less angry, Anders lit the lantern before making her way to Lowtown. She was prudent in her purchases, but not miserly, and once she had several packages in her arms, Anders decided to drop in on her favorite dwarf, for food, for a drink, and to change clothes.

“Anders?” Varric looked up from his ledger when she strode in the room.

“What about Unicorn Marsh?”

The dwarf closed the book with a chuckle. “Ah, no. Still doesn’t cancel out the marsh.”

She flopped into a chair, tossing packages across the table. “I suppose not. Too bad, really, I understand Black Marsh is a decent place to live now.”

“What brings you to my lovely tavern, Blondie.”

Anders smiled. “You know, there’s a reason I like you so well, dwarf. And it has nothing to do with your chest hair.”

“Is this where you declare your undying love?”

She really laughed at that. “However did you know? Oh, Varric, I cannot live without you!”

The dwarf shook his head. “Tits or no, you’re still Blondie.” He motioned to the packages and Anders drew one to her and opened it, revealing a sleeveless corseted top. “Nice.”

“I’m rather tired of hiding away in that rat hole in the sewers. There’s no more Justice to worry about, and if I’m really lucky no bastard elf to bother me either, so why not. Don’t suppose you could get me a room here, could you?”

Varric’s brows lifted. “Here?”

Anders sighed. “I’m going to tell you a little secret, dwarf, and it had best never back to my ears.” She danced fire over her fingers, intent clear.

“My lips are sealed, Blondie.”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been a woman. In fact it isn’t even the second or the third. The last time,” she swallowed and ignored the surge of rage and terror threatening to choke her, “I was stuck like this for more than half a year. Female Anders is not like female Fenris. I’m still Anders, but my female psyche is fully realized. And I’m nowhere near as nice, or as selfless, as the ragged, run-down, apostate you know. He’s here, but I protect him, I’m hard where he would be soft. I’m cruel where he would be kind. I hate myself for it, but I’d never have survived those six months by being boy Anders trapped inside a girl.”

“I’m not a hundred percent sure I have a clue what you mean, but if you say you’re still you, then I’ll chalk up any odd behavior to personality quirks and nothing more.” Varric grinned and waved a hand. 

Anders turned to see Norah approaching with a tray. “Ya need summin’, Varric?”

“A jigger of your finest and two mugs, Norah.”

The woman nodded and went on her way and the mage turned her attention back to the dwarf. “If you could manage to scrounge up some food, Varric, I’d appreciate it. I’m going to use your bedroom to change clothes.”

“You serious about that room, Blondie?”

“Yes.”

“Consider it done.”

Anders hummed happily to herself as she shrugged out of her borrowed coverings and pulled on the new clothes. The top fit as it should and so did the tight leather leggings. She pulled a comb from one of the parcels and worked through the tangled strawberry-gold tresses that reached nearly to her waist. With practiced motions, she drew the bangs back in a tight plait, but left the rest loose, tying off the braid with a short length of black ribbon.

She’d chosen soft-soled boots that came up to her knees, both for protection as well as because she liked the way they looked. When she was satisfied, Anders collected the rest of her purchases, rewrapping the items and setting them once more on the large table where she’d spent many nights playing cards and enjoying the company of others.

“You really clean up, Blondie.”

She gave a small pirouette. “Thank you, ser dwarf.”

“You’re in the room right across the hall, key’s there.” He pointed to a heavy bronze fob atop the small shelf near the door.

“I’ll be just a minute.” Arms quickly re-burdened, Anders made her way to the opposite door, unlocking the suite and stashing her things before leaving, careful to turn the bolt.

“Anders.”

She startled and pushed with her magic, watching the elf slam backwards into the wall. He groaned at the impact, but maintained his feet, lifting angry eyes to glare at her.

“I warned you, elf. It’s not my fault you’re too stupid to listen.”

“What are you doing here?”

Anders leaned back against the door and crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s no concern of yours.”

“Mage,” his voice held a dangerous note.

“Ride a pike, elf. Or Isabela. Or better yet, your ridiculous sword. I don’t care. Just leave me alone.” Anders narrowed her eyes and felt magic build between her shoulders, in her chest, wild, barely leashed.

“We need to speak-“

“No, we don’t. You have a tiny bit of my soul. I have a smidgen of yours. It’s barely enough to even notice and I assure you, in time you won’t at all. We aren’t tied together by anything more than our association with Hawke, and even there it’s at best a loose connection. You’re a boy, I’m not, and that’s just how it is. Unless Xenon remembers something he’s forgotten or someone else comes up with another solution, this is the new reality.”

“You would rather stay that way? Small, and soft, and easily overpowered?”

Electricity erupted from her skin, enveloping her in a ball of heat and light and she advanced on the elf. “The last time someone raped this form, Fenris,” she hissed his name, “it took five fully armed and armored men to hold me down, along with various blades and fists. They had their fun, and then I had my vengeance. Do not think for a moment I’m unaware of the disadvantages of being female. Or that I will fail to kill anyone who thinks to take from me what I do. Not. OFFER!”

Magic poured into the elf as Anders lost control. It was worse than it had been before, she couldn’t rein herself in, electricity flowing from her and into him. For a moment, panic welled, fear she would actually kill the elf, but then his marking flared and he moaned, wrapping one hand around her wrist and it was like that first morning, when she’d tested his brands, only exponentially stronger as his pleasure roared through her.

Everything went white, magic retreated like ice beneath flame, and Anders wrenched her arm away from him. Fenris staggered into the wall, smacking into it, both hands spread against the wood to hold himself upright she assumed. Anders tripped over herself, legs completely wobbly, entire body shaking with left over energy. That had not happened before, she’d only felt an echo, what in the Void…

Her jumbled thoughts danced like dust on the wind, as she tried to puzzle out why. It must have been the force. She’d unloaded immense power on the elf just then, not a tiny tendril of magic as earlier. When combined with his activated ability, it must have amplified the sensation. On that seemingly distant morning, she’d severed their connection before his brands had fully lit. 

Yes, that was it. As good an explanation as she was likely to get. She straightened herself and moved away from Fenris, who was still recovering. She narrowed her eyes at the dampness spreading across his groin. “Stay away from me, elf.”

 

Three

Fenris watched Anders march angrily into Varric’s suite and didn’t have the strength to follow. By the Maker, when he’d charged, static power and violence, the elf had a moment when he was certain the mage hadn’t been exaggerating. He was convinced Anders would kill him and be done with it. But the instant his magic rushed into him, over him, it was all ecstasy, the oblivion of frenzied need finally released. He’d gone from semi-hard, to painfully erect, to stupefying orgasm in less time than it took to remember the entire incident.

The mage didn’t need to worry about arguing with him, not if every time he became infuriated he lashed out with magic. Anders would have Fenris a drooling puddle of sated male, easily pushed aside and ignored. By the Maker, it was insanity, all his life magic had only been pain and now, with Anders, it was everything but agony. Despite the way the organ between his legs was happy to do this over and over and over again, Fenris had to find a way to talk to the mage, to at least be near him without them cutting each other to the quick, or he would never be able to try and change things between them.

He heard Varric’s voice, then Anders’, and he didn’t move when the mage strode from the suite and down the stairs. He could run all he liked, Fenris would always find him. Instead, the elf slowly pushed from the wall and moved into the dwarf’s room.

“Broody. I’ll assume you’re the reason she left here in such a huff.”

“He.” Fenris slumped into a chair and drew a foam-topped mug to his mouth.

“Actually, she. Girl Blondie’s been a girl before and prefers the feminine pronoun.”

“I’ll try to remember that.” He guzzled the entire contents of the mug.

“I have to ask, Elf, why are you suddenly so willing to put yourself within arm’s reach of Anders?”

“Did you not notice my state? Perhaps I have a strange fetish.”

Varric was not amused. “You know, Broody, I think I liked you better as a girl. At least I could ignore the movements of your mouth and focus on the beauty of your body.”

Fenris frowned. “What do you want me to say, Varric?”

“I know the last week or so has been stressful for you and Blondie. But Elf, it hasn’t exactly been a walk in Hightown for the rest of us. Put bluntly, you’ve been nothing short of cruel to the man since you met, so watching you try to mount him was pretty damn shocking for everyone. And knowing you slept with him, well, that’s just fucking surreal.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, dwarf.”

“Elf, the only people who might not know Anders shagged you is Sebastian and Bodahn’s boy. The rest of us? Yeah, clear as crystal, so don’t bother lying.”

Fenris really wanted another drink if he was going to continue having this conversation. “Fine.”

“So what’s the deal?”

“I don’t wish to fight with Anders. That is all.”

Varric lifted a brow. “Not even remotely all, Elf.”

“More I am not inclined to say. My thanks for the ale.” Fenris pushed away from the table and turned from the room, but not before the dwarf fired one last volley.

“If you’re not careful, Broody, I’ll have to give you a new nickname. Besotted has a nice ring, don’t you think?”

The mansion was dark and silent as Fenris cleaned up and changed his leggings. In the quiet, his thoughts turned to the incident with Anders, more specifically to his _her_ words. There had been real pain, true undiluted rage ringing in every syllable when she’d said she’d been violated. An answering fury churned in his belly at the very thought, but he tried to distance himself from the emotion so he could fully consider the deeper implications of her unbidden confession.

He’d once overheard a conversation between Sebastian and the mage, where Anders had said he was lucky not to have been abused in the Circle. At the time, Fenris had sneered, chalking it up to yet another reason not to listen to the man when he railed against the injustices of the Circle of Magi. He’d been fed, clothed, educated, and housed by the Chantry, so what if he was kept under lock and key. Mages were dangerous, they couldn’t be trusted.

But now, Fenris had a sinking sensation Anders had lied to the priest, had obfuscated the truth because if he’d been honest, both Fenris and Sebastian would have likely claimed his reasons for wanting to bring down the Circle were based on his own biased history. Surely, whatever abuse Anders had suffered was a rarity, not the norm. The elf could almost hear his voice saying those words and he was ashamed.

The abuses of the Templars weren’t rare and that had been made uncomfortably clear over the past seven years. Yes, too many mages in Kirkwall turned to blood magic, too quickly, but Fenris had never seen more people, who held the lives of so many in their control, use their authority to inflict so much damage since he’d left the Imperium. The Knight-Commander was clearly insane and though he’d long said she was the only thing keeping back the unfettered run of the mages in the city, Fenris began to think perhaps she was as much the cause as she was the antithesis of the solution.

His past colored his thoughts, yes, but of the mages he’d seen Hawke free over their time together, he honestly hadn’t found any of them to be power hungry animals. Maker, even the girl Justice had nearly killed, all she’d wanted was to see her mother. She hadn’t wanted to take over Kirkwall, she hadn’t turned to blood magic even when that sick Templar had stood over her, telling her exactly what he’d do with her once he’d made her malleable.

She wasn’t the only one. In fact most of the mages he’d had contact with were exactly like that girl. All they wanted was to live a life free of chains and that was a sentiment Fenris knew all too well. This truth did not suddenly mean the elf thought all mages harmless and good, no. He didn’t trust them any farther than he could throw them, but that didn’t mean they all wanted to be magisters either. 

He armed himself and left his mansion, thoughts running free. How in the Maker’s name could he prove to Anders his opinions had shifted? He didn’t trust mages, he didn’t think they were safe, but he found he believed many of them deserved a life without bars and cells and locks. He didn’t think the Circle should be abolished, for without question there were mages too dangerous to be free, but certainly changes needed to be made, first and foremost tighter regulation on Templars and swift justice for those who abused their position.

Fenris followed the call of Anders toward the sewers. He was insane to continue courting danger with the mage, but in truth, the elf hadn’t felt so alive in a very long time. Squaring his shoulders, he headed for the clinic, ready to do battle yet again. And again, as many skirmishes as it took for the mage to at least let him in, at least let him _try_ to be the friend he could have been if hatred and fear hadn’t gotten in the way.

* * *

“Do you have a fucking fetish, Elf, or what?” Anders had stepped out to douse the lantern only to find Fenris leaning against the wall, seemingly content to wait.

“Perhaps.”

His face gave nothing away, it rarely did. Anders screwed her eyes closed and ground her back teeth. How many times did she have to physically eject the bastard from her space before he took the hint? She didn’t want anything to do with him. 

_Liar. And the fact that he just keeps coming back has me wondering why. I know he wants me, but that was boy Anders, does he like girl Anders too, or is it something more? Damn elf, he knows I’m a sucker for puzzles._

She flat-out ignored her inner self and focused on her unwanted guest. “What do you want, Fenris?”

“To speak with you.”

“Maker, can’t you just let it go?”

He shifted away from the wall, walking toward her. Anders held her ground, not giving an inch, not even when the ridge at the front of his chest plate brushed against her body.

“No.”

Sweet Andraste, the way he said the word was all sorts of dark and sexy and low. “Elf, you seem to have lost any sense of self-preservation.”

“Do it again, Anders.”

Oh, fuck her, that was… fucking elf that was just _wrong_. Her gaze flew to his face, impassive as ever, but his eyes, pupils blown wide, black with desire. He knew _exactly_ what he’d said, wagered on the fact the memory of his lithe, writhing, female body clawing at Anders back, greedy, untried pussy milking his cock like it was a gift from the Maker himself…

“You bastard.”

His lips twitched, a tiny smirk lifting one side. “Very likely.”

Anders spun on heel and stormed back into the clinic, fighting back the powerful surge of need Fenris had broken open with a few carefully chosen words. A woman’s desire encompassed all parts of her, body, mind, and emotions and it was a harder thing to fight. And that was the real problem because Anders body wasn’t the only thing turned on, and much like the night before, she didn’t know how to handle the feelings Fenris was stirring up.

The sound of the clinic door closing seemed abnormally loud. His deep voice even more so.

“I apologize. I didn’t intend to distress you.”

“Then what exactly did you intend, saying that?” She whirled to face him, watched as he tugged the sword from his back, swallowing hard when he removed his gauntlets too. Maker, it was sexier than him being naked, watching him take off those bloody spiked gloves.

“I have… had no other lover. I- I am unsure how to act. The words came unbidden.”

Ander tripped backwards, landing hard on a cot, mouth hanging open. Surely she heard that wrong. “You can’t be serious. I mean, okay, girl you, sure, yes. But, no one? Ever?”

“If there was someone before the brands, I don’t remember them. And no one since.”

“Not even your master? He sounded like he knew you rather… intimately.”

Fenris moved closer and lowered himself onto a cot nearby, but far enough to leave several feet between them. “I was his body guard, not his body slave. There were some who wanted to, but Danarius wouldn’t allow it.”

A fiery blush burned up her neck and she ducked her head. “I don’t even know what to say. Holy shit, and the way I, we were, I think I’ll just lie back here and quietly die.”

“I don’t think you do much quietly, Anders.”

She sucked in a breath and shot a glance at him. “You’re doing it again.”

He looked away, then back, and she _felt_ a flutter of uncertainty, nervousness, but to look at his face, there was nothing. “Forgive me.”

Ander shook her head. “No, it’s – you’re flirting with me. I’m- it’s alright. Well, not really because I’d rather you didn’t, but I mean,” a sharp spike of cold, and she cursed, “damn it, I didn’t mean it that way. Shit, Fenris, why did you sleep with me? Why did you call out my name?”

 _No, no, you did not just ask him that! Andraste’s tits, this is what too honest means!_ Male Anders fought to assert himself, but it was a lost cause.

“Because I wanted you. I didn’t realize you were there, but I wished you were.”

A hard pulse of desire, breasts to groin, a painful pounding of her heart, Anders tried to swallow around the dryness in her mouth. “Fenris, that’s, uh, wow, I didn’t expect you to be that candid.” She shifted on the cot, scooting farther away.

“Why should I lie? We were both there. I’d think it would be difficult to claim I wasn’t interested. In fact, I was rather wanton and thoroughly uninhibited.”

“Maker, Fenris! You have to stop talking.” It was like a punch in the gut, the visceral reaction of her body to his frank dialogue. At this point, Anders was already going to have to take things in hand if she had any hope of sleep tonight.

The entire conversation was an almost painfully sensual and frighteningly bizarre exercise in pushing preconceived limits. She took several slow, deep breaths, and tried to get things back on track, but in truth Anders didn’t exactly know where the track was to begin with. “Maybe we should talk about something else, Elf.” 

“Do you regret it?”

Her mouth moved before her brain was fully engaged. “Yes! Don’t you? Why would you want me, Fenris? We have nothing in common. In fact, we are at opposite ends of the blighted spectrum. If all you wanted was a tumble, picking someone else would have been much less complicated, for everyone.”

He sat back on the cot and looked down at his folded hands. “I don’t regret it. In fact, given the chance, I would do exactly the same over again. I don’t want another, Anders. I’ve only ever desired one person. Just you. Only you.”

The mage bit her lip as emotion tore through her. It made no sense at all, but she felt the truth in Fenris’ words and she had no idea what in the Void to say, how to accept the veracity of his claims when she knew- “You hate everything I stand for. How can you loathe all that I am, but not me? Fenris, that is insane.”

He said nothing and Anders purposefully focused on their bond hoping to glean insight his still form refused to give. But either the elf had discovered a control over their link Anders had yet to or whatever he was feeling was simply to distant or too confused for her to feel it. With a sigh, she stood and stepped away from her cot and his. “I’m heading to the Hanged Man. I don’t want to stay in this shit hole. Make sure you put out the lamps before you go.”

“I don’t hate you, Anders.”

She didn’t turn around in the open doorway. “I know, Fenris, and that just makes it all the more difficult.” 

 

Four

Sleep in a real bed was _so_ much better than sleeping on a flimsy cot. Anders stretched languidly and gave a loud, contented sigh at waking up and feeling truly rested for the first time in a very, very long time. It might have taken a fortnight, but Anders was finally feeling energized when she woke, instead of just this side better than bedraggled. Sliding from between the covers, she padded to the small dressing table and took a look at what two weeks of regular food and good sleep had done.

Anders turned this way and that, pleased with the changes she saw. Her bust had plumped a bit, as had her hips and ass, and the pointed, jutting bones were softened by having more meat over her skeleton. She exercised every morning and had taken to sparring with Aveline, of all people, in the evenings. Building her strength and muscles as she learned how to wield daggers instead of a staff. According to the guard-captain, she was doing nicely.

The only things that weren’t better were the fact she remained female, that Xenon couldn’t be kept on target long enough to offer any other advice or wisdom, and the elf had become a semi-permanent fixture in her life. Of all the prior complaints, it was the last that irritated and confounded her the most. He didn’t push, in fact most days they didn’t speak at all, it was the _knowing_ he was there, that he wasn’t going away that got under her skin.

She dressed without much thought, grabbing a clean top and leggings, stepping into her boots, strapping on two big fucking knives. When she pulled the door to her room open, she tried not to roll her eyes when the elf straightened from the wall.

“Good morning, Anders.”

“Elf. Why do you persist in standing guard? Really, it isn’t necessary.”

“I don’t want to see you hurt.”

That stung, and she gave him an incredulous look. “You’ve hurt me plenty over the last seven years. Gleefully, it seemed. Why the fuck does it matter now? It’s only okay if you’re the one wielding the blade?”

Fenris sighed. “Anders, I don’t want to fight.”

“Then you should choose your words more carefully.” She curled her lip and hurried down the stairs and out into the Lowtown morning.

The food vendor in the Alienage had the best quiche in all of Kirkwall and Anders was famished. Without much thought to anything else, she made her way there and bought two of the eggy, cheesy, porky pastries and settled herself beneath the Vhenadahl tree to enjoy her meal. She was half-way through the second when a shadow fell over her. Looking up, she saw first the silver skirt, then the shiny armor, of a Gallows Templar.

“Can I help you?” She took another bite and chewed slowly.

“Do I know you?” The Templar shifted and Anders took a good hard look at the face. He looked vaguely familiar, but not enough so she could put a name to the sandy blond hair, slightly crooked nose, and thin lips.

“I doubt it. I’m not a big fan of the Chantry.” _Please, for the love of Andraste, keep a civil tongue in your head!_ Anders took another bite and tried to heed the good advice of her conscience.

“Are you from Kirkwall?”

“No. Are you?”

“I served at Kinloch, before the abominations took over. Cullen and I transferred here after the Hero of Ferelden defeated the Archdemon.”

Anders swallowed and looked at the man again. He couldn’t be one of _them_. They were dead and ash, burned to a crisp with her fire when, in their fervor to rut on her broken body, those Templars had forgotten to keep forcing the magebane down her ravaged throat.

But he could have easily been one of the ones who watched and did nothing.

“I’m from Ferelden too, got out before the Blight mess though.” Anders finished her breakfast, though how she kept it in her stomach was a wonder. Dusting crumbs from her lap, she stood and moved away from the man. “Have a nice day, Templar.”

She made it to the first landing when the man’s voice turned her blood to ice.

“I remember you, now. The one that kept escaping, but you’re a man, they only magicked you a girl.”

Anders slowly turned around. “I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

“I'm not. I never forget a face. You killed five Templars, Apostate, but I recall they had a good time before they went.” 

“Anders.” 

The weight of Fenris’ hand against her forearm jerked her gaze from the vile embodiment of all that was wrong with the world and into eyes so green, so pure, so untainted with hate that for a minute, Anders thought she imagined the elf.

“Step away from the mage, elf.”

Fenris gave her a small smile before stepping in front of Anders and drawing his weapon. “She is not your mage!”

 _I think I just melted into a puddle of warm taffy. Blighted elf, should not be able to steal pieces of my heart with ridiculous things like this._ Anders had to blink, her damned eyes going blurry as she watched the elf charge down the steps and engage the Templar. In broad daylight, no less, in front of a dozen witnesses, he had lost his mind.

It was over quickly, Fenris’ fist deep in the Templar’s chest. She couldn’t hear what he said, but apparently whatever it was it terrified the man more than his heart beating inside a fist because he pissed himself and ran like a rage demon had lit him on fire when the elf released him. Fenris sheathed his weapon and walked back to her, ducking his head when several elves praised his effort.

“Are you ready to go to the clinic?”

Anders bit her lip and nodded, sure if she opened her mouth to say something, the only thing that would come out would be gibberish and nonsense. No one, in her too short and too painful life, had ever fought for her. Not her mother, or Irving, nor the damned Wardens. But on a cool Kirkwall morning, a lyrium-branded elven ex-slave of the Tevinter Imperium had drawn steel and defeated her enemy and Anders didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the wonder burning too bright from somewhere deep inside that had long been dark.

* * *

Fenris walked a bit to the side and behind Anders as they made their way to Darktown. It was good she didn’t want to talk because he was still too furious and terrified to carry on a conversation. The only reason that Templar still drew breath was because ripping the bastard’s heart out in the middle of the city was an exceptionally bad idea. And he’d needed the man to carry a message to anyone else who might think they recognized Anders. If any Templars came near her, Fenris was explicitly clear exactly what would happen to them. He could remove more than hearts, after all.

He’d been almost paralyzed with fear when he’d heard that bastard’s words, seen the ugly sneer on his face, but it was when he’d seen what little color left her skin, when he watched memories overtake her body, Fenris was catapulted into motion. No one would hurt Anders again. He would see them all cut down before they laid another hand on the mage. He shook his head at his thoughts, recognized the familiarity of them, and Fenris supposed it was appropriate. He’d been the one to strip Justice away and the elf was glad to act as Anders protector in its place.

By the time they reached the clinic, Fenris was collected and calm again. He noticed the lit lantern and gave Hawke a nod in greeting as he followed Anders in.

“Give me a minute to put on a smock, Marian.” 

They both watched her walk away before Hawke turned to Fenris. “What happened?”

“An ugly memory. I should tell you I had a small skirmish with a Templar in the Alienage. In case Cullen mentions it or the Knight-Commander.”

Marian’s eyes grew wide. “You what?”

“He threatened Anders. I suggested, with my fist in his chest, it would be a good idea not to bother her again. For any Templar to bother her again.”

“Oh, well, that’s a good thing, then.” Hawke looked at the next patient in line. “Do you mind, Fenris? He has a wound that needs cleaning. Sebastian should be back soon, he went to procure more potions.”

“Of course.”

“Great, then I’ll get the next one inside.”

Fenris stripped down to Anders tunic and his leggings and delved into the work of healing. Anders joined him and Hawke after a few minutes and Sebastian came in shortly thereafter. Between the four of them, they cured and cleaned and stitched their way through bodies until early in the evening. After a noticeable lack of new patients, Anders declared the clinic closed and with so many hands in motion, they had the ward cleaned and put to rights in no time.

“Thanks everyone. Today was a good day.” Anders soft lips curved in a smile as she waved goodbye to Hawke and Sebastian.

Fenris waited, leaning against the desk, just watching her move while he buckled the last gauntlet in place. She didn’t turn to look at him, but he heard the smile in her voice when she spoke.

“Come on, Fenris. I owe you a beer, at least.”

Since she wasn’t looking she missed the wide grin that he felt spread his lips and reveal his teeth. It didn’t matter, though, and as he lifted his sword and scabbard, he agreed with her sentiment. Today was a good day.

* * *

“You’ll never believe what I heard, Broody.”

Fenris tipped the contents of his third glass of wine back, enjoying the warmth growing in his belly and the relaxed, slightly hazy sense of being the alcohol created. “You’re right, I probably won’t.”

The dwarf cackled a bit. “A little birdy told me you made a Templar piss himself this morning.”

“I imagine it was rather a Daisy.”

“Norah, get the elf another. He’s actually manifesting a sense of humor!”

The barmaid returned, this time leaving the bottle, pocketing the sovereigns Varric gave her with a bright smile. Fenris refilled his glass, drank it swiftly, refilled again and raised it briefly to the story teller. “In answer to your inquiry, dwarf, I did indeed make a Templar piss himself this morning.”

“In defense of a frightened maiden, even?”

Fenris scowled. “I don’t think Anders is a maiden, Varric. I was,” he laughed softly, a tiny voice inside suggesting he _might_ want to stop talking, but the elf ignored it. That last glass of wine had really loosened him up and he was feeling very chatty. “But not anymore. Or maybe not. I don’t know. Varric, if I slept with Anders as a girl virgin, am I still a boy virgin?”

The dwarf pitched himself right out of his chair, he laughed so hard. Isabela looked over from her perch near the bar and lifted a brow. Fenris shrugged in response to her unasked question.

“Fenris, I think maybe you’ve had enough.”

Anders’ soft voice came near his ear and the elf turned his head to look at her. Her cheeks were a lovely pink and there was a strange smile on her full lips. He wanted to taste it. “I want to kiss you.”

Varric started coughing and gasping for air from the floor, but Fenris was too fascinated by the way Anders tongue flashed out to make her bottom lip damp. He leaned forward, but she pulled back and straightened. No, that wouldn’t do. Setting his glass down, he took her waist in his hands and pulled Anders onto his lap.

“Don’t be mad, Anders. I promise I’ll make it better.”

“Damn you.”

Fenris smiled and put his lips right next to her ear. “You said that last time too.”

“Fenris! Let me up.” She was squirming with real strength so he sighed and released her, taking his glass again and striving to reassert his distant shield.

“I apologize, Anders. That was inappropriate.” He looked into his wine, watched the dark red liquid twinkle beneath the lamps.

She made a strangled sound, but Fenris didn’t look up at her. Instead, he leaned to the side and offered the dwarf a hand. “Come on, Varric. It’s filthy down there.”

The other man shook his head as he stood, taking a minute to dust himself off. “Leave it to Blondie to ruin a good run.”

“Varric.” Her voice held a warning tone, not that the merchant prince cared.

“You didn’t answer my question, dwarf. Am I still a boy virgin?”

Varric retook his seat and in all seriousness, he met Fenris’ gaze. “Ever been with anything other than your hand?”

The elf took a long drink. “Nope.”

“Then I suppose… yes. If you ask Isabela, I’m sure she’d love to help you rectify that.” There was a mischievous glitter in the dwarf’s eyes.

“Hmm, it’s something to consider.” 

He felt the anger radiating from Anders in waves, knew it from the tingling in his brands. Angry Anders had shoddy control of her magic. The sharp smell of ozone came a moment before the hard snap of electricity as it crackled through his body, starting at the sensitive tip of his right ear. Fenris’ body seized, so close, and then nothing. The mage jerked away from him and stormed from the lower room of the tavern and up the stairs.

“Did she just?” Varric motioned from the elf toward the swiftly retreating back of Anders.

“I don’t think she liked my comment.”

“If I were you, Elf, I’d go after her. Not saying it will change anything, but it’s never a good idea to leave a woman to stew overnight. Nasty business, that.”

Fenris didn’t know if the dwarf was right, but it sounded like a good idea. “Okay.” He drank the rest of his wine and stood. He wasn’t truly drunk, yet, but he was having considerable difficulty keeping the smile off his face. Anders didn’t want him to sleep with Rivaini.

“My door’s always open, if she tosses you out on your ear!”

Fenris gave a short wave over his shoulder to the dwarf as he climbed the stairs towards Anders. This was probably a really bad idea, but at that point, Fenris thought it was the second best one he’d had all day.


	2. Parts 5-8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion. LOL, this was a lot of fun, I have to admit, even the angsty bits :D Note, the following contains EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT featuring F/F, M/F, and M/M. I noted the f/f and m/m, just in case folks want to skip those, though the f/f is more sensual and less graphic, other than a bit of language.
> 
> Anyway, would really love to hear what readers think and hope you all enjoy this!

* * *

Anders buried her face in her pillow, not that anyone would hear the sounds of her tears over the din downstairs. _Bastard elf! Just when I start to think maybe, just maybe there might be some way to bridge the gap…_ In this, Anders and her inner-male were in perfect agreement. After what happened in the Alienage, she’d thought, crazy as it seemed, the elf might not be so anti-mage as she’d long believed.

 _”She is not your mage!”_ His words had shifted something tender, something fragile in Anders. And then he had to go and consider sleeping with the whore.

_Bit hypocritical, though, since I slept with her._

“Shut up, Anders!”

“Why are you yelling at yourself?”

For being inebriated enough to have extremely loose lips, the elf was surprisingly agile. Anders threw a spirit bolt, but he dove to the side and rolled out of the way of her projectile. 

“For fuck’s sake, Elf! Go away!”

“Are you crying, Anders?”

She turned her face back into the pillow. “I’m not talking to you, Elf. Go home. Or go to Isabela. But leave me be.”

“I don’t want to go home, Anders. And I don’t want Isabela. I already told you, I only want you.”

“Liar.”

“I only said that because you wouldn’t kiss me. Or sit with me.”

“You keep saying those things I asked you not to!”

“I know. I try not to, but I can’t help it. I’m trying, Anders, trying to show you that I’ll make it better. I promise.”

She flipped over onto her back. “Fenris! Maker, get a half a bottle in wine in you and you won’t shut up! And stop repeating the shit I said in bed, it’s driving me mad.” She huffed and tucked the pillow to her chest, wrapping her arms around it and trying very hard to ignore the rather insistent pulse between her legs.

His face appeared over the edge of the pillow and his hip pressed against hers as he sat on the bed. “Please don’t be upset. I didn’t mean what I said about Bela.”

“Elf, you are going to be pissed at yourself in the morning.” She shook her head and felt a crooked grin curve her lips.

Fenris seemed to ponder her statement for a moment, then he shrugged. “Perhaps. Anders?”

“Yes?”

“May I sleep here?”

She closed her eyes against the imploring look in those pine green eyes of his. “No funny business, elf.”

“None.”

This was a stupid idea, but Anders was tired and after what he’d done for her today, this was a small thing to ask. “Keep your pants on.”

“I wouldn’t take them off unless you asked me to.”

Anders muffled her frustrated groan in the pillow. “And shut up. No more talking.”

Shifting the cushion beneath her head, the mage moved across the bed to make space for the elf. She listened to him remove some of his armor, then heard him stride around the room to blow out the lamps, before he returned to the bed, the mattress dipping slightly with his weight.

The space wasn’t as large as Varric’s, but it was plenty big enough for their bodies. It took a few minutes, but eventually Fenris settled against her back, his pelvis carefully away from her bottom, though his chest was flush with her shoulders and his arm around her waist.

“Anders?”

“What did I say?”

“Good night.”

She sighed. “Good night, Fenris.” 

* * *

Anders stirred, tightening her arm around the warm body pressed to her front. Her fingers twitched against firm muscle, a little _zing_ of power tickling her skin. Rubbing her cheek against the silky soft hair teasing her face, she hummed contentedly and burrowed closer.

“Anders?”

“Shhh.” She really didn’t want to get up yet.

“Anders.” The voice was soft, shivery, such a beautiful _contralto_.

She shot upright in the bed, one hand on Fenris’ shoulder, pulling the lithe body onto its back to face her. “Why are you female?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea!” 

The look on the elf's face made her think that might not be completely true, but there was something in his eyes suggesting while Fenris might suspect, he didn't truly know how he'd switched again.

“We didn’t…” Anders let her voice trail off, but she was still she, so-

“No. You said sleep. We slept.”

Anders gave him an apologetic grimace. “I’m sorry, Fenris. No matter anything else, you wouldn’t do something like that.”

“No. I wouldn’t.” He grumbled and crossed his arms over his chest, which drew Anders attention to his tunic.

“Are you ever going to give that back? It was my favorite shirt.”

“No.”

 _Ooh, Maker, just as sexy out of a woman’s mouth as it is out of the man’s._ Trying very hard not to remember this Fenris naked, sweating, flush with desire, Anders frowned and replayed the previous night, picking at this or that in memory, hoping for an epiphany of sorts that might reveal the true nature of the maligned spell they suffered.

“The wine can’t be the impetus, since there was no wine last time. Was there?”

Fenris shook his head, long white locks falling over his face. “Bah! I hate all this, this hair!”

Anders sighed. “Maker, Fenris, sit up. I’ll fix it for you.” She drew the ribbon from the bottom of her braid, then motioned for the elf to hand her one of his gauntlets from the floor next to the bed. “Just let me, there.” Those spikes weren’t all show, splitting the silk neatly in two.

Anders quickly retied her hair, before shifting behind Fenris’ stiff back. She tested the strands and was a bit jealous to find not a single tangle or rats nest, not that she really expected any, his hair was so damned _soft_. The mage spent several minutes simply sifting through the strands, playing with the length and hoping to unwind some of the tension in Fenris’ frame.

“Do you want all of it out of the way, or just your bangs?”

The elf shifted, expanse of his spine softening as he leaned back against Anders crossed legs. “I don’t want it in my face.”

The mage laughed a bit at that. “You have your boy hair in your face all the time.”

Fenris huffed. “It doesn’t get in my mouth.”

Anders smiled at the cross note in the elf’s voice. Somehow, growly sounded so cute coming out of those full, kissable, feminine lips. _Oh no, no, just get his damned hair out of his face, Anders._ The inner-male was quite agitated with the direction of her thoughts and Anders was curious. _I wonder if Fenris would be as unbridled under a woman’s lips, hands?_ Heat bloomed in the pit of her stomach quickly followed by a hard rush of possessiveness, strongly masculine in its ferocity. 

Apparently, her inner male wasn’t quite as conflicted about the elf, at least with regard to sex, as the feminine aspect. _He_ , though with some agitation, thought of Fenris as _his_. Probably because the damn elf had baldly stated he’d never been touched by another. A frisson of desire tightened Anders’ nipples and she scooted around, pushing her thoughts aside and turning to the task at hand.

She collected most of the hair from the front of Fenris’ head, then split the bunch into three strands and began to weave them over and under each other. It didn’t take long, and the elf had a lovely, snowy plait down the middle of his head. Anders bound the end with the other half of her ribbon before letting it fall against the middle of his back.

“There now, better?” 

One of Fenris’ hands came up to carefully trace the braid and then he turned to look over his shoulder at Anders. There was a small smile on his mouth. “Yes. Thank you.”

Anders stared at his face, drawn in by the large, bedroom eyes, even more smoky and exotic in the feminine structure than his masculine one. And those lips, petal-pink and fuller, rising above the pure elven chin, “Maker, Fenris, it’s almost painful to look at you.”

The softest pink stung his high cheekbones, tinted the tips of those long, elegant ears as the elf dipped his face. Anders couldn’t stop herself, she lifted her hand and softly traced the long edge of the ear nearest her, felt her breath stutter when Fenris bit his bottom lip, leaning into the caress with a soft, semi-stifled moan.

Around the tip and back down, Anders drew her fingers, growing more aroused with the deepening of the elf’s flush, the way he tipped his head, the supple line of his neck in lovely relief, a tiny pink tongue darting out to wet his perfect mouth. She leaned close before she even fully registered the desire to kiss those lips. She had to taste him-

Fenris jumped up from the bed and wrapped his arms around himself, giving her a dark, angry look. “No.” 

Anders eyes widened as she caught the minutest tremble of Fenris’ lower lip a moment before he collected his possessions, jerked open the door and strode out. He didn’t run, he moved with the same precise movement he always did, but there was an extra stiffness in his posture, and Ander sank back on the mattress feeling, well, feeling like a shit, really.

Damn it, as if trying to figure out male Fenris wasn’t hard enough, it seemed there was a bit of woman in the elf after all. With a sigh, Anders climbed from the bed and pulled on clothes. At the very least, she should find him and apologize for, well for whatever she’d done to upset him.

_Whatever? You can’t be serious. You don’t let him anywhere near you with a penis, but suddenly he becomes some dewy-eyed nymph and you’re all but pushing him onto his back? I cannot possibly be this stupid as a woman._

She snarled at her inner self. Fine, she knew why the elf had left. She simply didn’t want to admit it. Her conscience, however, was disinclined to let her pretend ignorance. As Anders locked the room behind her, she stopped thinking about Fenris the girl, but instead about how the elf had changed gender again. 

She’d spent years, by the Void she still lost herself for hours, studying magic and rituals, potions and amulets, in tomes, scrolls, on scraps of paper, anything she could lay her hands on. And despite all her accumulated knowledge, of the arcane and the mundane, Anders could not think of a single tale, record, or even allegory where the afflicted seemed to shift from male to female aspect for no obvious reason.

Corff gave her a smile and a wave and Anders reciprocated, noting the elf was nowhere in sight. Where had he gone?

“Your friend looked pretty angry. Headed out the door.”

“Thanks. See you later.” The bartender at the Hanged Man was the epitome of perfect. Quick to offer up the latest gossip and took everything in without a blink or a stutter. 

Whether he knew Anders was the same Anders the mage couldn’t say, and it didn’t matter, because Corff was a smart barkeep. He knew when to keep his mouth shut, he knew where the steadiest gold came from, and so long as one behaved (within reason) and paid their tab, he didn’t fuss himself over details.

Kirkwall was overcast and Anders thought it might rain, hoped it wouldn’t, as she crossed the street to the stairs across from the tavern.

“Let me pass, human.”

Fenris’ husky voice carried on the cool breeze, the tone clearly murderous. Anders cursed under her breath and jogged toward the sound. She rounded the corner near the foundry and spied four large men in a half-ring around her not-so-delicate elf, if the way female Fenris was twirling that massive sword was anything to go by.

“Ah, look, the pretty knife-ear thinks she can best the four of us.” One of the men shuffled closer and Fenris narrowed his eyes.

“Frank, might not be a good idea, this one. Her swords bigger ‘n she is.”

Anders stepped up behind the men. “Yeah, Frank, I’d take your friend’s advice.”

Four heads whipped around at the sound of her voice.

“The knife-ear has a pretty friend. Come on lovely, we just want a good time.”

Anders sneered. “Then go to the Rose. The elf and I aren’t interested.”

The burliest of the group grabbed Anders by her upper arm. “You are if we say you-“

The mage felt her heart flutter as the man stopped talking abruptly and began to choke, blood pouring from his mouth.

“Jim, what in the Void, man?” Frank’s mouth gaped open as his pal dropped to his knees, revealing a rather delicate looking elf woman holding his heart in one small hand, hot, red hemoglobin dripping from the spiked gauntlet.

“He shouldn’t have touched Anders.”

The mage stepped back as Fenris dropped the heart and heaved a shrill battle cry, swinging her sword in a wide, controlled arc that sent the other three men flying backwards. Anders stayed out of the way, entranced as she watched the elf glide over the stone, a lethal streak of black and white. He cut down another of the remaining three before the two survivors wisely chose to find themselves no longer anywhere near the waifish tempest.

The elf was barely breathing hard as he sheathed his sword and returned to Anders side.

“I didn’t need your help, _mage_.”

That put her back up. “Well, excuse me. I didn’t know you were still so proficient with that blade.”

Fenris glared at her and lit his brands. “I can lift a Sten one handed. I’m sure the sword weighs less.” Blue fire quelled and they stood there, two dead bodies not far away, glaring at each other until the sound of metal on metal broke their standoff.

“That’ll be the guard.” 

The elf nodded. “I will handle this.”

 _He seems a bit toppy, doesn’t he?_ Anders smirked at her inner voice. She’d been thinking the same thing, along with the fact that the elf was a bit, well, protective. With a shrug at Fenris, the mage fell back as the soldiers approached, a bit surprised to see Donnic at the head of the group.

“Fen-Fenris?” So the guard-captain’s man was familiar with this version of the elf.

“Good morning, Lieutenant.”

The guard motioned to the mess. “What happened?”

“These men attempted to force their favors on me. I told them no, but they persisted. I had no choice but to tell them no with prejudice.”

Donnic’s mouth thinned, but he nodded. “Fenris, I know Aveline spoke with you, as did Serrah Hawke. You’ve done nothing wrong,” the man held up his hand when the elf drew himself to his full height, a look of indignation riding those fine features. “I was only suggesting you’d suffer less hassles if you weren’t alone.”

Fenris glared daggers at the man. “Thank you for the advice. May I go?”

Donnic swallowed and quickly nodded. “Yes, Fenris. Come to the Keep later and file a report, please?” 

“Of course.” Fenris walked away without another word and Anders was forced to skip after him to catch up.

“Fenris, wait. Where are you going?” She put her hand on his arm but he jerked away.

“Home.”

Anders lengthened her stride to match step with his. “Damn it, Fenris, would you please stop.”

“No.”

She growled beneath her breath. “Now you sound petulant. It’s not very becoming.”

That drew the elf up short. He spun on heel and white hair flashed out behind him. “Unbecoming? Do you think I give a fig for what is _becoming_?”

Anders decided it was better not to answer that. “Look, I apologize for this morning.”

Fenris’ face shuttered, absolutely all emotion fled in the blink of an eye. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does. I shouldn’t have done that. It’s not fair for me to… engage you when I’ve been rather vehement in my rejection thus far.”

There wasn’t a flicker of feeling in the elf’s body, on his face, not even in those evergreen eyes, but Anders felt the faintest shiver of sharp, jagged heat in her chest.

“I shouldn’t be surprised you only want me in this form. I’m sure it’s much easier to pretend I’m not Fenris when I have tits. Easy to take what I offer and call it madness, Anders couldn’t possibly desire the branded elf, that would be _wrong_. Take, take, take, you mages are so predictable.” The elf turned away and took the steps further into the city two at a time, leaving the mage gaping after him.

Anders was totally taken aback by the tirade, but more than that, she was confounded by what she felt. Fenris was hurt, yes, but almost as much by his own hateful words as by her thoughtless ones. Andraste’s great flaming ass, the mage stared after his retreating figure and struggled to make some sense out of the quagmire her life had become in three short weeks.

 

Six

*Warning for some f/f in the second half of this chapter, just in case there are readers that unsettles. It isn’t overly explicit, but it is there.*

Fenris stood in the small garden behind the mansion, sweating profusely and breathing hard as he worked out his frustration on the overgrown grasses, thick vines, and stubborn shrubbery that had taken over the space. The exercise began with him moving through the rigid practice routine he did every day and slowly morphed into him hacking away at weeds and overgrowth as he tried to exorcise the remnants of hurt feelings being trapped in female form brought burning to the surface.

 _The sex was the best thing about being stuck like this, but I doubt that’s the norm. I can have a wank with far less buildup._ He snorted and took down another tightly wound vein of ivy intent on choking out the garden’s lone tree. Fenris didn’t want to think about sex, because those thoughts inevitably led to Anders and the elf was tired of ruminating about the mage.

The entire endeavor was the height of stupidity and of his making to boot. If he’d been less scared, less mistrusting, less belligerent with Anders, he might have had a chance to convince the mage… what? He didn’t hate him? The man said he already understood that. To make him see Fenris cared about him? Maybe more than cared? The elf had no idea how to express what he felt in the first place, let alone put the sentiment into words the mage might believe.

 _Oh, no, don’t you dare!_ The male shoved down inside Fenris tried to stop what was coming, but as the first tear slipped down his face, both aspects knew it was a lost cause. The elf swiped at the blighted liquid angrily, but more came after, until he threw his sword away and sank down into the soft grass and buried his face in his palms. Who cared if he sat there blubbering in the garden, he was alone. Always alone.

“Maker, Fenris, don’t cry.”

“I didn’t ask you to follow me, _mage_. If it bothers you so, kindly take yourself back the way you came.” Fenris was never more grateful for long years spent as a slave than in that moment. With tears pouring from his eyes, stuffing his nose and clogging his throat, he managed to deliver the words with a steady, flat tone, his body perfectly still, calm.

“By the Maker it does bother me! That’s the blighted problem!”

“Not yours.” Fenris stood and collected his sword, walking in a wide path around Anders and back inside.

The mage gave a strangled shout and stormed in behind Fenris, slamming the door. The elf ignored her as he made his way to his room. He pulled off his armor, replaced the sword in its stand, and keeping his back to Anders, removed the tunic and flung it over his shoulder, one arm crossed over his breasts as he sought his own covering. “Take back your shirt, I no longer want it.”

Long fingers wrapped around his right bicep and jerked him round to face a furious Anders. “Liar. I can _feel_ you, Fenris.”

When he was he and Anders she, they were of a height, but in this state, as in their other same-gendered forms, Fenris was slighter than the human. He trained his eyes on her throat, watched the pulse thump beneath her light-toned skin and refused to say anything.

“What do you want from me, Elf? Some sort of enemies with benefits arrangement? I suppose it has an appeal, you were _very_ good in bed.” She lashed out, apparently aiming to do as much damage as possible. 

Even though he suspected the woman was only trying to push him away, the swipe cut deep and he returned fire. Fenris curled his hand into a fist and slammed it into Anders’ belly for all he was worth. The mage staggered back and dropped to her knees, choking for air and retching loudly.

“Get out of my home. You are not welcome.” It was harder to keep his words even this time, but Fenris managed. Jerking a black top from the end of his bed, he covered himself and turned to see Anders rise from her knees.

“Oh, no. You are going to answer my damn question, Elf. Do you want sex? I could be convinced to do it on a regular basis.”

Fenris started shaking, his chest hurt so bad he could hardly breathe. _Fuck, this is a fucking nightmare._ He rubbed his palm over his breast bone and tried to ignore the horror in his inner voice’s tone. “Anders, I won’t tell you to leave again. I will throw you bodily from the top of the stairs.”

The mage rushed forward, but Fenris was ready, moving away from her hands and her magic, catching Anders ankle with his foot and burying his hand in those long, red-gold locks. He took a tight grip, jerking the woman off balance and using his leverage to drag her from the room and onto the landing. With a swift shove and a follow up kick to the mage’s ass, he sent her stumbling down the steps.

“You _bitch_! You pulled my hair!”

Fenris crossed his arms over his chest. “Be glad I didn’t rip it out. Good bye.” Unable to look into those amber eyes another moment, the elf pivoted on heel, intent to shut himself away until he no longer felt so abysmal, until the sharp stabs of pain the mage’s words inflicted could be ignored.

Screeching like a thing possessed, Anders flew after him, tackling Fenris to the floor before the elf could mount a proper riposte. The human was heavier than she looked, but it was the hissing, spitting agony of having _his_ hair pulled that pushed aside emotional bruises and unleashed fury.

Slamming his elbow backwards, he caught Anders in the ribs, sneering at the loud crack he heard with the impact. The mage screamed again, this time in pain, but returned the blow, her knuckles snapping against Fenris’ jaw. The pair rolled over, elf on top, mage on bottom, though it didn’t last. Clearly pained, Anders used her legs and hips to heave the elf from atop her and gain her freedom, rolling to the side and calling magic to fix her broken bones.

“You son of a bitch. I suppose your mother never taught you not to hit girls.”

“It doesn’t count if I’m a girl.”

“I suppose it doesn’t count when you don’t have a mother, either.”

The dig found purchase and Fenris snarled, lashed out without thinking. “I don’t remember much of my mother, _mage_ , but at least she didn’t stand by while I was carted off in chains.”

The blood drained from Anders’ face. “How dare you?” Her voice shook and all the fight went out of her body as tears welled in her eyes.

“ _Venhedis_! Why, why must you always push me into a corner?” Fenris looked away, wincing at the ache in his face and scalp, at the searing pain in his chest. “I don’t – I only want –“

“What? What do you **want**?”

The elf sighed and tried to find the words, but all he could come up with was, “More, Anders. I want more. More than sex, more than fighting.”

She wiped her hand over her face. “We can’t be more, Fenris. You know that, you must know that.”

“No I don’t! I’m not the same – I was wrong! But so were you, Anders. Not every mage should be free.”

Ander shook her head and Fenris got to his feet. “No. We shouldn’t be locked away just because we are what we are.”

“You’re right, but you know there are those who are too dangerous and cannot be trusted. Mages who should be locked up to protect the innocent from their power.”

“By that logic, some slaves should remain slaves.”

“Damn you, Anders.” The elf swallowed hard and dropped his chin to his chest. “I am a fool. You refuse to compromise, deny the truth, and my best attempts to reach you won’t ever be good enough.”

Fenris’ entire body was shaking as he limped into his bedroom and closed the door, taking himself to the bed and burying his head beneath the pillow, doing his best to block out the ragged sobs coming from outside.

And if he was crying just as hard, well, he would just pretend he wasn’t and hopefully with time and enough practice he might be able to convince himself his heart hadn’t ever been broken either.

_I think I’m glad to be female right now. If my heart wasn’t in charge, I’d kill that blighted mage._

* * *

Anders lifted her head from the rough carpet beneath her cheek and tried to blink, a bit unsuccessfully considering how swollen her eyelids were. She swore beneath her breath, angry at how pathetic she was. Lying on the floor bawling for no good reason until she’d been so spent, she couldn’t stay awake any longer.

_Oh, it was a damn good reason. I’m as broken as the elf but too Maker-be-damned petrified to take a chance. At least Fenris had the guts to try. I think I’ve been running longer than he has, from the past, from the Circle, from myself._

The worst part about her inner voice being right was how angry it made Anders. She had a right to run, to want to escape the collar and leash stamped with her name and held in a Templars iron grip. To want to never remember being torn from Mother’s hold, a tiny pillow clutched in her bleeding fingers. To never have to relive the things she’d seen while in the Chantry’s merciful care, the things she’d suffered, he’d suffered, Anders had suffered.

And no, Anders didn’t want to admit some mages didn’t deserve the right to make their own choices and live their own lives. Because if she admitted that, if _he_ admitted it, too soon the argument would be moot, because if one mage couldn’t be trusted, then it was all of them, and wasn’t that exactly how the world had ended up the way it was in the first place?

And what compromise could there be? Allow Harrowed mages allowed to live free, maybe have an individual Templar keeper, always close, just in case? Knight-Commander Meredith was steadily making Tranquil even those who’d passed that challenge, which by the Chantry’s own edict’s, should have made them be exempt from the vile, sadistic ritual. But no one was stopping her, not the Grand Cleric, not the Divine.

What about leaving magelings with their families? A nice idea, but Anders had seen scores of children, some too small to even speak clearly, left on the steps of Kinloch Hold, abandoned by parents who were too ignorant, too frightened, or simply couldn’t be bothered to care for a mage-born babe.

The Imperium wasn’t the answer – no matter how much she might have implied it so, she knew what went on in Tevinter was, for the most part, forbidden magic that had blighted the land and its people forever. Not all magisters were evil, slave-hoarding, blood-mages but many were and that was not a thing Anders ever wanted to see recreated across the face of Thedas.

She didn’t have a good solution, but that wasn’t really the point, when it came down to it. _I want the right to fight. To break free and fight and live, I want the right to fuck up and then be judged, not the other way ‘round._

She stood and slowly walked to the door, turning the knob and pushing inside on silent feet. As she neared the bed, her eyes grew damp again, looking at the sleeping female elf. His face was blotched with the mar of her knuckles and there was a bit of blood at the corner of his mouth. There was a time when seeing the elf’s smug face blackened by Anders fist would have given him a thrill, but in that moment, it seemed a long distant place.

She knelt on the floor, and laid her hand next to his on the mattress, fingers not touching, but so close she could feel the small warmth from the blood flowing beneath Fenris’ skin. If the elf had been more careful, if they’d never argued, so many ifs, enough to fill the Gallows, all irrelevant as Anders looked into a face she’d never understood but knew as well as her own.

Fenris had suffered, had been irreparably damaged by magic used to garner power and position and prestige, instead of to help and heal and save. He’d only ever seen the darkness, not the light, and yet somehow, the elf’s eyes had stopped being blind, had stopped painting everyone with magic as a magister. Fenris had been honest, he didn’t trust mages or magic, but he had decided to let actions speak and judge those and not the possession of the gift itself.

The elf had fought with her, challenged her ideas, pushed her to think better, to argue better. He’d also fought for her, put himself between Anders and the outside world. He could have drug her from the Alienage, they could have easily outpaced the Templar, instead he had chosen to fight, to defend her. To make himself a target by saying with steel and lyrium that Anders wasn’t alone, that someone thought she was important enough to take a stand for, to court personal harm to keep safe.

Laying her head by her hand, she closed her eyes and stopped remembering the words, started looking for the actions. Seven years was a long time to harbor so much antagonism, but she owed it to herself as much as the elf to stop running. At least long enough for Anders to be able to tell Fenris there really _wasn’t_ a chance for something more, instead of dismissing out of hand the only person in Anders’ memory to think she was worth the effort.

Slowly, she recalled a shift of body this way, a look of longing revealed in firelight, the brush of a hand, a soft laugh, the shadow of regret when words were used as weapons. The images were few in the beginning, more of them after Anders told Hawke to sell the elf back to his master. Fenris’ words were more biting then, but the look in those evergreen eyes was so haunted, as if he wished for nothing more than to stop, but didn’t know any other way to be.

She opened her eyes and sat up. If the elf was a fool, Anders was ten times one. They’d never have the same ideologies, not fully, they’d never be in total agreement on how the world should be. Fenris would ever be on guard for mages to step wrong and Anders would either be angry and violent or too trusting and needy – depending on what aspect the body remained in.

But the elf accepted these truths, accepted Anders, because he had chosen the mage. _”I’ve only ever desired one person. Just you. Only you.”_ Against all his ingrained instincts, Fenris had found himself wanting something he should have rejected without question, but along the way instead of feeding bitterness, he’d decided to try, to see beyond the words, and in the end, thanks to clumsy feet and a crazy artifact, he’d grabbed hold the opportunity to have his dream, though likely everything in him advised against it.

“Oh, Fenris. You blighted, bloody idiot,” whispering softly to herself as she stood, Anders leaned forward to push a few wispy strands of white hair from the beautiful face. “I want to fight, so badly, for a better future. But I think I need you to show me how to fight for the now.”

She pulled her hand away and turned, only to feel strong, warm fingers encircle her wrist.

“You begin by believing there’s something worth fighting for.” 

Fenris pulled and Anders went willingly into his arms, pressing her body against his, their faces close, both hands finding each other, holding tight. She stared into his face, into those guileless green pools, and felt her pulse pound, with fear, with worry… with hope.

“Fenris, I don’t know, I can’t promise-“

“I’m not asking for promises, Anders. For now, this is enough, that you are willing to try.” His voice was soft, the words carrying happiness on dulcet tones.

It seemed natural to push forward and finally taste those lips, to shift arms and legs until breasts pressed against breasts, gently curved stomach to slightly flared hip. Anders smiled against Fenris’ mouth as it occurred to her she’d never been with a woman while being a woman.

The elf’s fingers danced along the curve of her neck. “Why are you smiling?”

Anders leaned down to kiss Fenris’ jaw, pushing magic through her lips to heal the bruise, smiling with feminine delight when the elf moaned, shamelessly. She hummed against his neck. “I’ve never done girl on girl.”

He snorted and gave her shoulder a shove, rolling to the dominant position, pushing his thighs between Anders, his long, luxurious hair a curtain of white to block out the rest of Thedas. “I think I’d like to be the doer, this time.”

Anders laughed. “Is that right?”

Fenris grinned, but not playfully. “Yes, mage, it is. No magic, either, it gives you an unfair advantage.”

Anders had no opportunity to complain as the elf set himself to the task with the same intense concentration he employed in battle. Full lips against her mouth, his tongue dipping inside, retreating, teasing her bottom lip before plunging past her teeth, a moan vibrating over sensitive skin as Fenris tasted her, consumed her.

The mage tangled her hands in his hair as the elf settled his lighter frame against hers, hands slipping beneath the bottom of her blouse, edging the fabric higher even as his mouth moved lower. They shifted together until Ander was bare from the waist up. Gooseflesh sprouted over her arms and danced down her spine when Fenris’ gaze met hers as he took her nipple between his teeth. Holy Maker, she _he_ was good.

She arched into him, thighs parting further, one hand sliding down the elf’s back to palm the taut curve of his ass. “Fenris.”

The elf learned every lick that drew a shudder, every press of enameled-edge that made Anders moan, how hard to suck, to pull and twist just so until the mage dug her fingers into Fenris’ shoulders, back, her body shaking, skin flush and shiny with perspiration.

“Maker, Fenris, please, Fenris.”

And he did, please her, hot mouth against her clit, one long finger, then two, then three, filling her body, curved just so, thrust perfectly, the rhythm riding the edge of not enough and too much. Anders curled her hands in the sheets and writhed as Fenris finally pressed his teeth around the throbbing, swollen focus of her need and pressed his fingers as far inside as he could.

“Fenris!” Every muscle in her body convulsed and Anders rode every wave, bucking against Fenris as pleasure pulsed outward from her core, joy chasing close behind.

He eased her, soothed her, kissing the slickness between her thighs, her shuddering belly, and up over her heaving breasts, until the elf could wrap her in his arms, bringing the sheet over them, one hand making slow sweeps over her back, the other wrapped around one of Anders and pressed to his still clothed chest.

“Mmm, what about you?”

“This is all I want.”

 

Seven

Fenris woke and smiled to himself. He was male again and he didn’t even need to open his eyes to see proof. The grin had nothing to do with being in his original package and everything to do with the realization that he had figured out how to _instigate_ the change. All he had to do was choose to be one or the other.

He’d suspected he might be able to control it yesterday when he’d awoken female again. When he’d gone to Anders’ room, as they’d settled in to sleep, his alcohol hazed mind had thought the mage seemed to like him better in female form than male and he’d wanted so badly for her to like him, at least a little. A stupid, drunken thought, but true nonetheless.

And last night, after she’d screamed his name and come against his tongue, after he’d pulled her close, he’d wanted to know what Anders felt that first night. He wanted to feel her body tighten around _his_ cock. Said organ responded with a jerk, more than ready to find out and Fenris’ smile broadened.

He opened his eyes and looked down at Anders and wondered why she was still she, though. He knew nothing of magic at all, but if he could decide his shape, then he thought the mage should be able to as well. Anders was rather an expert on the arcane, after all.

She snuggled closer and Fenris turned more fully toward her, watching the early morning light catch fire in the strands of her hair. He counted the dash of freckles over her nose, stared at lashes so much longer and thicker around her feminine eyes. She was beautiful to him, no matter the shape and he pressed a kiss to her forehead in quiet thanks. 

Her lids fluttered and the amber eyes Fenris had dreamed about for years came into view. Anders blinked to clear away sleep, he supposed, and he waited for-

“What in the Void? You’re a _boy_!”

He chuckled. “Indeed.”

“This is so not fair!” She rolled onto her back and crossed her arms over her chest. “Why are you male again?”

“I think I can control it.”

Anders turned her face to his, one strawberry-gold brow arched. “You think?”

“If I want it badly enough, it seems to happen.”

“What do you mean? Was that how you changed back the first time?”

Fenris pondered the question, then shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. But the other night, in your room, I thought you liked girl me better, and I just wanted you to like me, even just a little, and then I woke up female.”

Anders motioned to his whole body. “And this?”

Fenris felt his ears heat and bit his lip. “Maybe I shouldn’t say.”

“Spit it out, elf.” Her words held no heat, but he was still a little worried.

“I wanted to know what it felt like.”

“What what felt like?”

He lifted his eyes, staring deep into her honeyed eyes. “To be as deep in you as you were in me. To feel you come on my cock, as I did around yours.”

Her pupils expanded and a flush of desire warmed her throat. “You are positively, criminally sexy, Fenris. Maker.”

He chuckled at her compliment. “It’s not intentional.”

“That’s what make you so potent, elf. Do you have to be asleep?”

He frowned a bit. “What do you mean?”

“To change?”

“I don’t know. Would you like me to try now?”

Anders nodded. Fenris closed his eyes and imagined his female aspect, the longer hair, the swell of breast, the way he felt softer, lither, more sensual…

“Andraste’s flaming knickerweasels! You can control it. Go back.”

The elf grinned and this time, focused on his cock, on having Anders under him, watching his body fill hers, spilling his seed inside her, and when he opened his eyes not only was he male once more, but he could have pounded nails with the pike between his legs.

“Why haven’t you gone back?”

Anders looked away from him. “I don’t know. You took the brunt of the curse, though something of it must have been passed to me for this to happen at all. Magic has a flow, a reason, usually. I suppose there must be something I’ve yet to do or learn, some task to be completed, or maybe this could just be the way I am for the rest of my life.”

“I don’t care. Your shape matters little to me.”

She gave him a quick grin. “Only a little?”

He rose over her. “Not even that much, Anders. It’s the you inside, the good and the bitter, the angry and the compassionate, female, male, magic and mundane.”

“You’re doing it again.” She whispered the words, her eyes sparkling in the soft sunlight.

“What?”

“Stealing little pieces of my heart with ridiculous things. If I were male right now, I’d be a puddle at your feet. He’s such a romantic, soft-hearted and so easily hurt.”

“Perhaps that’s why you aren’t. He might not have been so resistant, he might not have made me work to prove I believe you are worth fighting for, Anders, being with you is worth everything.”

“Stop talking, Elf, and kiss me.” 

Her eyes were full as she pulled Fenris down and he gladly gave in, the lightness inside him so bright he was certain he glowed without benefit of brands.

* * *

“Anders, look at me.” Fenris’ voice was throaty, a groan given life more than anything and she fought for enough focus to do as he asked.

He rose above her, olive-toned body between her pale thighs. Anders looked down to where they were joined, lyrium veins glowing, their soft luminescence giving him an ethereal quality. Fitting really, since Anders couldn’t remember being this aroused, so thoroughly possessed by need every muscle in her body, every spark in her soul, on the verge of implosion. Like a spirit, every pull, every caress of Fenris’ body moved her one step closer to the Maker.

“I need to see your eyes.” The elf held her ass in his hands as he slipped between the swollen, slippery folds of her sex, the thick head of his cock pushing in, retreating, plumbing deeper. “You are beyond anything I ever imagined.” His voice working her higher as surely as the slow, steady give and take between his hips and hers.

“Elf, you’re killing me.”

“No more than you are me, mage.” A hard thrust punctuated by a swivel of pelvis and the press of a thumb against her clit.

She arched into him, bringing her hands up to his chest, digging her fingers in deep, mind swirling to the time when their positions had been reversed and Fenris had done the same. By Andraste, being filled with him, she began to whimper, eyes slipping closed once more.

“Look at me.” One of his hands slid up her body, wrapping around the curve of her spine, lifting her head and shoulders from the bed. “Know who takes you, Anders.”

"Fenris." Her hands slid up to his neck as she sought an anchor as the force of his possession grew harder, fiercer. He slammed his body into hers and she opened her eyes, lost in a sea of green, faces so close his breath became hers and hers his.

“Tighten around me, _yesss_.” It was a hiss of ecstasy, of power as he gave her every inch of himself, forced her to accept him, deeper and deeper, without mercy. “More, Anders. You’re so wet, yes, that’s it. Roll your hips, ride my cock. Tell me how good I feel.”

Fenris tightened his hold on the back of her neck, his eyes boring into hers as he shifted them forward, giving him better leverage. His lips curled back slightly, pulling a grimace over his beautiful face, the immensity of the pleasure he found in her written in lines not unlike pain and Anders heard the soft, whimpering cry she gave in response.

“Fenris, I’m going to come, Maker, don’t stop!”

“Then come. I am here, with you.”

His cock was so thick inside her, stretching her so delightfully. Deep inside, her male aspect longed to feel the rampant member pounding his ass, slamming into and over his prostate until Anders screamed, utterly undone and unrepentant, ropes of come coating his belly and Fenris’. The mage couldn’t possibly stand beneath the almost-violent conquering of Fenris and her own fantasies.

“Maker, so good, milking my cock. Anders, take me, take all of me.” The elf had little hope to outlast the powerful contractions of her body.

He shifted his hold to dig his fingers into fire gilt strands, pulling the mage’s head back, not enough to break eye contact, but enough to watch her submit to orgasm with glorious abandon. Anders knew it was too much for Fenris, all control gone as he growled and savaged her with violent strokes that only made her come again, harder, screaming incoherently.

“Ah! _Ich bin dein!_ ”

The elf took her mouth as he poured his seed into her, fire and life, a more visceral piece of _Fenris_ exchanged between them.

* * *

“ _Ich bin dein!_ ”

Fenris could not understand the words, but he knew their meaning. Anders screamed her surrender, giving herself completely into his care and the elf couldn’t hold back any longer. _Maker, sweet mercy!_ Filling the mage with his spend made him want to bellow his claim, the pounding need to mark her riding him as he tightened his fist in her hair and watched, felt, absorbed her release and gave her his own.

It was so very different than coming apart around Anders, but nearly as sublime, each pulse of his cock sending a surge of masculine pride pounding through him, a hard-edged echo of delight, proof he could satisfy the woman in his arms. The orgasm didn’t last as long, but it took every bit of his strength, left him shaky as a babe, and filled him with a possessiveness that being on the receiving end had not. 

Fenris was covered with sweat as he rolled them to the side, pulling one of Anders’ thighs over his hip to keep his slowly softening member inside. He didn’t want to retreat from her, in any way. She shuddered against him, moisture not from energy expended damping his shoulder where the silken skin of her cheek pressed.

“ _Ich bin dein_ , Fenris.” 

He heard the whispered words and tightened his hold on her. “ _Tuus sum ego._ ” He wasn’t certain the meaning was the same, but it was truth nonetheless. He was Anders, irrevocably. 

And if he never had more than this day, it would be enough, a memory he would cherish when the darkness grew long, when the wind was cold and tried to cut the soul from a man, Fenris would always have Anders, in his heart and spirit, to remind him of the light, of warmth. Of hope.

* * *

Anders woke alone and rolled to his side. There was no sign of the elf, though he suspected Fenris wasn’t far. With a sigh, he stretched, a languid movement, meant to test the best of aches. He hadn’t been so well-loved in… well, maybe ever. The future was a miasma, unclear and cloudy, but today, he was relaxed, content… happy.

Scrubbing palms over his face, the feel of hair rough against his palms, the mage nearly threw himself from the bed as he kicked free of sheets to reveal the long, lean line of masculine form, replete with scars and the faint smattering of hair.

“Thank the Maker!” The right voice, the right body, Anders almost prostrated himself on the floor to offer divine supplication. 

_Don’t be an ass now. I could be back in female form for the selfishness of this sudden attack of_ piety _. Better to figure out why I’m this way, first._

No doubt the long-buried, recently unearthed and still quite potent female part of him had a point. Mulling over all that happened- most of it carnal wonder- Anders pushed beyond the sensual and looked deeper, feeling a harsh rush of emotion as words spoken and given came roaring to the forefront.

For the first time since he’d been drug from his home, Anders had been fully open, had freely given himself into the keeping of another. He trusted the elf, trusted in Fenris’ belief of his worth, of his value. Conviction burned inside him, no matter anything else, the ex-slave would not throw him away, and he’d be there to catch him when it seemed the only thing waiting was a deep, black abyss.

_“Tuus sum ego.”_

His own words returned without hesitation. The elf’s voice and heart filled with so many glorious emotions, freely offered, with no expectation of reciprocation. Anders was humbled, moved by the fact that the man he’d so long considered his enemy had proven himself to be as far from the moniker as night was from day.

He dipped his head, pressed his face into his palms and took a slow breath. 

“Are you alright?” That soft, honeyed baritone once loathed, now sweeter than any song.

Anders felt a laugh bubble in his chest. He looked up and saw worry pinching between dark brows. “I don’t know about that, Fenris. But I’m good.”

“That’s… good then.” The elf shifted awkwardly and Anders smiled. After everything they’d done, been to each other (past and present), and through, something tugged in his chest at Fenris unsure of himself.

“Fenris, come sit with me, please.” _I think it’s time._ The voice of the woman Anders once was, and would always be, spoke from deep within and the mage knew she was right. “There’s something I want to tell you. Something I probably should have told someone a long time ago.”

The elf made his way to the bed and sat, shoulder to hip, next to Anders. “I’m glad to listen.”

“I know.”

* * *

Fenris stroked the shorter hair of his mage and longed for a way to give him the Justice he truly deserved. Not the vengeance Anders had taken on those who had tried to break him apart, but real righteousness, for what the man had suffered in the _gentle_ care of the White Chantry was nearly as horrific as anything Fenris had known in the Imperium.

“That’s why she’s so strong, so hard and cruel. Why I am. She took all the pestilence, protected her mind while her body was defiled and worse. I haven’t trusted anyone since the day the Circle took me, not really, but after what happened that year in solitary… I joined with Justice too easily, maybe, but when that bastard Templar Warden snuck more of his ilk into the Vigil, I was once again trapped. Alone, with no one to turn to besides the spirit of the Maker’s First and I took his offer. I believed it was the only way, but my blackness tainted him, twisted him. I’m glad he’s back where he belongs, but I owe him a debt still.”

“Shh, I understand. I do not think you weak or less and I am,” the elf’s tone hitched, “sorry I caused you to believe I did.”

Anders’ breathing stuttered and Fenris leaned over to kiss the top of his head. Strong fingers came up to find his free hand, the grip tight, seeking comfort and reassurance. The elf shifted to lace their digits, palm to palm, and tucked their joined flesh close to the mage’s chest. 

Once Anders’ had begun talking, there had been no stopping the uncorked words; they’d flowed with such force from his tall, lanky form. Now, as the sun dipped outside the window, Fenris knew the man needed food and sleep. Tomorrow would come, the new day the beginning of a future the elf had never thought to wonder over.

“Fenris?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m starving.”

The elf laughed. “Then we should eat.”

 

Eight

*M/M here, in case there’s someone reading a Fenders fic that isn’t keen on it, heads up *

Anders was finishing his third bowl of mystery stew when Varric, Hawke, and Merrill came into the Hanged Man.

“Anders! You’re back.”

He grinned and set down the empty dish. “I wasn’t really gone.”

“No, I don’t suppose you were. Did you learn how to undo the curse?” Merrill sat down next to him and patted at his feathers. 

“Maybe. I’ll have to work on having the kind of control Fenris has, though.”

The other three gasped as the elf wavered his shape, a small smile curling his mouth at their shocked gasps. “Perhaps it isn’t so much a curse as a gift.” His green gaze flashed to the mage and Anders heart did a triple beat.

“There you go, doing it again.”

Fenris chucked, though it was almost lost beneath Varric’s “Do what again?”

Hawke settled beside her Dalish. “So, I got a letter from Orsino. It seems Meredith has completely lost it, she’s talking about Annulling the Circle. I’m going in the morning, to see if I can stop this before it destroys the city. I don’t know what’s going to happen, and I totally understand if you two would rather not be involved. Sebastian has already left, dragging a rather unwilling Elthina in his wake to Starkhaven.”

“How did he manage to get Her Grace to leave?”

“Oh, he didn’t. I sent her to sleep.” Merrill piped up cheerily and Anders laughed, then humor fled as he recalled his own plans for the Grand Cleric.

“Anders?” Marian’s tone held concern.

He shook his head. “If you need me, Hawke, I’ll be there.”

“As will I.”

The mage looked at Fenris, felt love burn in his heart. Thank the Maker for clumsy feet and lyrium brands.

“Best get ready, then. I have a really bad feeling about this.”

“You have a bad feeling? Maker, I’d better get my accounts settled and money in hand.” Varric gave a sly grin and toddled off to attend his business. “Don’t forget to tell Isabela, Hawke. We may have real need for a ship captain in the near future.”

* * *

As Hawke had predicted, when they went to confront Meredith and Orsino, things had devolved quite quickly. The Knight-Commander trying to charge into the Gallows, intent on ferreting out blood mages that might or might not have existed and the First Enchanter determined to stop her. Orsino’s refusal had been the last straw, Meredith claiming the elf was a maleficar himself and ordering the Right of Annulment.

There had been real shock in the group when Orsino had turned into a thing Anders called a Harvester, revealing the truth of the First Enchanter’s knowledge of the blood mage that had killed Hawke’s mother, and attacked not only Meredith, but all the assembled bodies. At that point, Marian had separated them, sending Anders, Fenris, Varric, and Merrill to protect what mages they could, while Aveline, Isabela, and Hawke, along with Cullen and the Templars who supported him, had stood against both possessed leaders.

By the time it was over, Kirkwall burned, though most of the citizens were kept safe by the guard, and Thedas was awash in rebellion. As it turned out, Hawke and her merry gang of misfits did indeed a ship captain.

“Stay in touch, you hear?” Aveline and Donnic came to see them off, the big woman’s eyes filled with tears and pride too. 

“Damn it, big girl, you’re going to get me all misty!” Isabela was the last to board.

“Don’t worry, Guard-Captain, I’ll be back!” Hawke waved until the couple was but small dots, before turning to the rest of them.

“Well, that wasn’t exactly how I planned to leave Kirkwall.”

“We’re headed for Rivain now Hawke, maybe you could keep your world-shaking to a minimum there?” Varric gave the woman a grin and she replied in kind.

“I’ll do my best.”

Fenris laughed. Hawke’s best should have anyone shaking in their boots.

* * *

“Damn it, Fenris, come here!” Anders grabbed for the elf again, only to have the lither man slip from his grasp.

“I don’t know why you believe you should be in charge, _mage_ , but I have other ideas.”

“We’ll just see about that.” Stripping his robes and his breeches, Anders assessed the small space of their cabin. “Eventually, I will catch you.”

“Promises, promises.” Fenris grinned. The last several days were awash in blood and magic and war and he was still a bit unsteady with how much had changed in so little time.

Still, as he looked at the fully nude and extremely virile form of Anders, he couldn’t help but be happy in the chaos. And he wanted nothing more than to slam the man against the wall and fill him up, prove to both of them they were real, alive, and solid.

Growling low in his throat, he threw off his own clothing and narrowed his gaze at the mage. Anders topped him by several inches, so perhaps the wall wasn’t the best idea. The bed made more sense. He shifted his feet, luring the human to the most advantageous position before striking.

“Oof! Damn it, Elf!” 

He tackled Anders around the waist, toppling the larger body, and pressing his gain without hesitation, mouth claiming, tongue tasting, teeth biting. There was no need to be gentle, not when he sensed the fire riding the mage that burned in his own blood.

Fenris took both the mage’s wrists in one of his own as he forced his legs between Anders, pressing their hard cocks together while he sucked on a warm tongue and used his free hand to tease a tight, male nipple.

The other man bucked against him, legs coming around Fenris’ waist before he twisted his body, rolling them over, wrists still bound in the elf’s touch. Pulling back, Anders gave him a feral grin. “You might be stronger, but I’m bigger.”

Fenris struggled, but Anders set teeth to the sensitive edge of an ear and he shuddered. Damned mage, it was no fair, especially when he felt the dance of magic over his skin. “Anders!” He gasped, precome leaking from his cock to smear against his stomach.

“Ah, ah, not just yet, my elf.” Using his weakness against the elf, Anders managed to pull free of the hold on his wrists and began to make his way down the branded body of the man beneath him.

Fenris twined his fingers in his own hair as the mage’s mouth tracked downward, cock throbbing as Anders licked and sucked at his nipples, the faintest touch of magic from his fingertips as the human traced lyrium with power, taking the elf to the edge, only to pull back when Fenris was ready to beg for him to never stop.

“Oh, no, I’m going to swallow you down, Elf.” 

Fenris tore strands from his own head as he scrambled for purchase. The silken threads of Anders hair brushed against his palms and he sank his fingers deep, hips coming up off the bed as the mage kept his word. A slow, hot suck, all the way to the back of his throat and further, before retreating, tongue laving the underside of his glans until Fenris had to grit his teeth to stop the roar of desire clawing for release. 

“Mmm, you taste so good, Fenris. Want me to continue?”

The elf surged back into that mouth, crying out, “Yes!”

Anders hummed, the world tilted, but Fenris kept himself from tipping over only through sheer will. Someday, he would choke the man between his legs on his seed, but today, he wanted to be inside him. “Please, Anders.”

The mage showed him no mercy, head bobbing down again, until the hot rush of exhaled air teased the base of the elf’s cock. Fenris pulled the hair hard, the lusty grunt of his partner only adding tinder to the inferno threatening to consume him. Long fingers took hold of his testicles, squeezing gently, pulling the sack away from his body. He slammed his cock into Anders throat as the mage’s action doubled his need but sent release skittering away like ash on the wind.

Insensate with hunger, body pounding with the relentless cry for orgasm, Fenris gave himself over as the mage deep-throated him again and again, spittle making his body as slick as the sweat pooling at his throat and coating his skin. Determined, it seemed, to keep him on the edge, Anders interspaced long pulls of the rock hard prick with shallow bobs and a swirling tongue until the elf hovered on the edge of pain from all the attention.

“Enough!” Fenris pulled hair violently, dragging Anders up and over him, hand scrambling for oil as he threw the mage's legs open over his thighs.

He looked down at the smug look on the mage’s face and wanted nothing more than to see it contorted in submission. He prepared the man quickly, copious lubricant and two thrusting, twisting fingers plunged into a tight, pink ass. 

“Fenris,” a hiss of passion as Anders’ hips lifted into the caress.

“I need you now, mage.” The elf didn’t want to cause his lover any pain, but he had to be inside the willing flesh, buried as deep as possible before he lost all control.

Pressing forward, Fenris pulled one of Anders’ ankles to rest on his shoulder, watching the pale, rose-hued flesh give way, the head of his cock taken, the mage’s ass opening up around the thickness of his shaft, taking every inch to the balls. He flexed his muscles, watched Anders stomach contract as his body tightened down on the invading length.

“Maker!” 

“That’s it, fuck, Anders, so good.” Fenris shifted his hands to grip firm ass, pulling Anders open, watching as he stretched the tiny hole, slick glistening on his cock as he slid out to the head then surged forward.

“I won’t last, Fenris, harder!”

Fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, he looked up the line of Anders’ body and growled. “Take your cock in hand, Anders. Fuck yourself while I fuck you.”

The mage’s head tossed on the pillow, but he did as he was bid, and watching those long fingers grip tight around the red-flushed prick, head wet with precome and need, Fenris slowed, working himself into the near-strangling hold of Anders' body and lost himself in the hedonistic pleasure tearing through him.

He gave Anders harder, deeper, and faster as the mage keened beneath him, watched the almost violent way the human pulled on his cock, relished the debauched cries spilling from the lean man. Anders bit at his lower lip and Fenris, possessed by a need to dominate, let loose one taut buttocks to reach for that mouth, to plunge two fingers past red, swollen lips.

“Suck!”

Anders did and the world turned white for a moment. Fenris held tight to the strong chin beneath his thumb as his cock exploded, pouring come into the hot, tight channel wrapped around it. He hammered into the mage, releasing the other ass cheek to cover Anders' hand with his own, “Come, _mage_. Come for me.”

White teeth clenched around his fingers and Fenris grunted as the first thick, ropy streams of release shot from Anders cock, over his fist to spray against the other man’s belly and chest. It was one of the most erotic things Fenris had ever seen and he praised his lover even as that long body rippled around his cock, pulsing with each ejaculation, bringing Fenris to the verge of another orgasm with the uninhibited response.

Unable to stay upright any longer, the elf collapsed atop his lover, uncaring the motion smeared his body with warm, salt-scented semen. He listened to Anders' heart trip-hammer beneath his ear and sighed with contentment. 

“Maker! That was fucking amazing. As soon as I can, though, we’re going to have a chat about you being so damn toppy.”

Fenris chuckled. “Next time, I’ll let you be in charge.”

Anders snickered. “Let me? We’ll see about that, love.”

As long fingers wound their way through Fenris’ hair, the elf smiled. Love, indeed.

* * *

“Anders looks better, doesn’t he?” Marian snuggled close to Merrill. It seemed his female side wasn't about to let the ex-Warden descend back to skin and bones. Or maybe that was just Fenris. Or both.

“He does. Fenris too. I really didn’t think he could smile. Not without cracking his face.”

Hawke giggled and nudged the elf in the side. “Merrill!”

“It’s true. Do you find it odd?”

“Fenris smiling? Maybe a little.”

“No, the way the keep changing sex.”

“Kitten, if I could swap between boy and girl, I’d do it in a hot second.” Isabela leaned closer to the Dalish as she took a deep swallow of her ale.

“Well, I don’t imagine they’ll be doing it much for the next few months, at least.” Merrill smiled softly and both other women gave her curious looks.

Hawke motioned to the female version of Anders leaning against Fenris at the bow of the ship. The elf held her tight to his body, arms wrapped around her and they were both smiling and speaking, though their words didn’t carry. 

“Why? They haven’t stayed in one gender for more than a couple of days so far. I think they just like all the variation.”

“Anders is pregnant.”

Isabela tripped off the small platform at the wheel of the ship. “What?”

“How in the Void do you know that?”

“I can see his energy and there’s a new current there. I thought I told you this before.” The Dalish shrugged at Marian’s gaping face. 

“No. No you didn’t. Do you think they know?”

Isabela snorted. “Not yet. And sweetie, I cannot wait until they figure it out.”

Hawke shook her head as she looked at the one pairing she’d never in her life expected to see. “They figured themselves out, Bela. Somehow, I don’t think even children could be more difficult than that.”


End file.
